Ever Darkening Days
by Relinquere Sapientia
Summary: Hope steadily slips away and Minas Tirith crumbles from the inside out. However, a family, bound by love and pride for its people, struggles to survive the growing shadow. Minas Tirith in the days just before and during the War of the Ring. WIP.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of Tolkien's work or his characters, I only play with them. The only things I do own are the original characters and original events. This is a work in progress.

Frankly, I'm doing this for my own experimental purposes; I wish to see if it's even possible to create an original, female, non mary-sue character within the Tolkien universe who interacts on a decent level with the main characters _without canon-raping them to death_. Of course, it's been done before and well, but not often. Please review away, and most importantly, be honest in your reviews. I firmly believe that only through such constructive criticism may one aim to become a better writer, especially considering I have never written something so long, nor seeking to cover so many characters over such a tumultuous period of time.

**Background: **Just to give you a little background to this story, according to canon, Denethor had two older, unnamed sisters (Appendixes in LoTR). Hence, I have created names for them and a timeline for their lives, which hopefully will not interfere with canon too much. I have also created other OCs, who are involved in their lives. The protagonist in this fic is the granddaughter of Denethor's oldest (by 13 years) sister. However, some of the chapters will not include this protagonist at all since fic is supposed to focus on the story itself.

My OC is the granddaughter of Denethor's oldest sister, Immenor, who, according to the timeline I created, was born in 2917 when Ecthelion II was 31. Ecthelion's second daughter, Aerinor, is born in 2924 but dies unmarried and childless of illness in 2952. Of course Denethor is born in 2930 according to canon. Since Denethor married late (2976 at the age of 46), and is a full 13 years younger than Immenor, one could safely assume she has time to marry (2954 to Heliath at the age of 37) and have children (a daughter Aerineth in 2954, and a son, Hanieth in 2959), who in turn marry (Aerineth to Ingaron in 2982 at the age of 28. Hanieth never marries) and have children. Aerineth has a child in 2988 at the age of 34 named Finduireth, but dies in childbirth. Of course Boromir and Faramir's mother, Finduilas dies in 2988 as well. Finduireth's father, Ingaron, dies the following year, 2989, in a skirmish with the Orcs of Mordor on the borders of Dol Amroth.

That same year, Immenor and Heliath, Finduireth's grandparents, move into Denethor's household to raise Finduireth, who is 5 years younger than Faramir (born 2983 according to canon) and 10 years younger than Boromir (born 2978 according to canon). Finduireth cannot move into her uncle Hanieth's (remember him? He is Immenor's second child) household since he remains too busy as an Ithilien Ranger. However, Hanieth still visits his niece as much as possible (for he gets along quite well with his uncle, Denethor) until he is killed in 3004 in Ithilien at the age of 45 in a border skirmish with the Uruks of Mordor. In 2991, Heliath, Finduireth's grandfather, dies at the age of 87. In 2992, Immenor dies of grief at the age of 74. Since Finduireth is without parents, grandparents, or her uncle, Denethor takes her in, raising her as one of his own. Hence Finduireth, the protagonist of this fic, is Denethor's grand-niece.

I'm sorry, was that previous paragraph confusing as hell? Because it sure was for me, which is terrible considering I wrote the damn thing. So below, you will find a linear timeline of events. Some are canon, some are created by me out of necessity but hopefully do not interfere with canon.

**2886** – Ecthelion II born

**2904** – Heliath born

**2917** – Immenor, Denethor's oldest sister born

**2924** – Aerinor, Denethor's other older sister born

**2930** – Denethor II born

**2950** – Finduilas of Dol Amroth born

**2951** – Mount Doom bursts into flame

**2952** – Aerinor dies of sickness

**2954** – Immenor marries Heliath, a commoner lieutenant to the new Captain of the White Tower, Denethor, against her father's wishes. Denethor is friends with and supports Heliath's marriage to Immenor. Immenor loves Heliath greatly and is openly defiant of her father, going so far as moving to Dol Amroth, where her husband offers his services to the Prince Adrahil, Prince Imrahil's father. Becomes lieutenant-commander of forces, for he is quickly shown to contain a talent for strategy

**2954** – Aerineth, daughter of Immenor and Heliath born in Dol Amroth

**2955** – Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth born

**2957 – 2980** – Aragorn, a.k.a. Thorongil serves in disguise to both Thengel of Rohan and Ecthelion II of Gondor

**2958** – Ethelion, under counsel from Thorongil, forgives Immenor for her choice of marrying Heliath and has Heliath promoted to Lieutenant-Commander under Denethor, Captain of the White Tower, making Heliath the 4th most powerful commander in the city under the Steward, Thorongil, and then Denethor. A pregnant Immenor, Heliath and their child, Aerineth, move back to Minas Tirith

**2959** – Hanieth, son of Immenor and Heliath born in Minas Tirith

**2976** – Denethor II marries Findulas of Dol Amroth

**2978** – Boromir, son of Denethor II born

**2982** – Aerineth, daughter of Immenor and Heliath, marries Ingaron, Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien

**2983** – Faramir, son of Denethor born

**2984** – Denethor II becomes Steward after death of his father, the Steward Ecthelion II

**2988** – Finduireth born. Aerineth dies in childbirth

**2988** – Finduilas dies

**2989** – Ingaron dies in Orc skirmish on border of Dol Amroth. Finduireth moves into the household of Denethor with her grandparents, Immenor and Heliath. Becomes friends with her cousins, Borormir and Faramir

**2991** – Heliath dies of natural causes late in the year

**2992** – Immenor dies of grief over her husband in March. Finduireth is adopted by Denethor and lives as sister to Boromir and Faramir from this point on. Cannot live with uncle Hamieth since he is never home and always fighting in Ithilien, though he does see her often whenever he's visiting Minas Tirith.

**3004** – Hanieth, aged 45 and uncle to Finduireth, dies in one of the border skirmishes with the Uruks of Mordor in Ithilien in Gondor's attempt to retake it. He was childless and wifeless, similar to his cousin Boromir, in that he loved war games and battle and proved valiant.

**3018** - **June 20:** Sauron attacks Osgiliath. Boromir and Faramir hold the bridge until it is destroyed, then swim to safety with two others.

**-July 4:** Boromir sets out from Minas Tirith to Rivendell.

-**October 25** – Council of Elrond

Finduireth will have _NO_ romantic entanglements with any of the Fellowship. She will also not interfere with the relationship establishment between Eowyn and Faramir or set them up, nor heal them. That's Aragorn's job after all.

There will be no Denethor bashing. I happen to like the guy, thank you very much, and see him as tragic hero rather than the batshit crazy mofo the movie falsely portrayed him as. Faramir's relationship with his father will not be anything like the craziness it was in the movie (frankly, I think the movies, especially RoTK, made it a bit too obvious and over-the-top), but more similar to the book. In fact all relationships will be based on the cannon of the book rather than the movies.

Boromir will _NOT_ be made into some crazy villain-from-hell. I also happen to like the guy a lot, think he's a pretty noble sort and find him fascinating. Essentially, the character of Finduireth is created in order to bear witness to the madness and decay Gondor is steadily falling into around her.

Also, I have lost my beta reader after these first chapters, so if anyone would be interested in beta-ing, please dash off an email to me.

Whew! I hope that explains the background of this fic without being overly long. And of course, lastly and most importantly, thank you for taking time to read my fic. I hope you enjoy it


	2. Trial by Fire and Water

June 20, 3018

Fire. 

It engulfed him, invading every breath he inhaled, the smoke and ash coating his lungs. The angry, brilliant, and damning red and orange flicker forcing him to narrow his eyes, sometimes even closing them completely against the blinding light that swallowed him. The roar of it as it consumed building and man alike proved deafening, leaving him with little sense of direction, cutting him off from the rest of his forces, condemning him to certain death by flame. 

It would be a terrible way to end. He would not wish it on even the worst of his enemies.

Only Sauron himself would dare use such a destructive force against the magnificent city of beauty and light, built by the great Elendil and his sons, a shining star in the universe of men. But then again, they were fighting Sauron himself. Or at least an extension of the Dark Lord in the form of the Orcs that launched the surprise attack, their leader, the deadliest of enemies no man could even begin to hope to kill. Even now, the screams of the wretched Witch-king filled his ears, invaded his brain, tore at his heart, made his blood run cold even as he forced his body to move forward. 

Looking back, he still could see nothing, hear nothing, do nothing. He stood helpless against the onslaught of fire and the terrifying shrill of a king of old turned wraith, sinister and deathless, seduced by the power of a dark and seductive Lord. He tried to move forward but the hideous sound held him in its sway, as though it reached out and physically bound him immobile. Suddenly a voice, steady and clear, but most importantly, loud, called out his name. It called for retreat, to fall back, for the bridge was the last obstacle, and even now, that avenue of escape was fading fast.  But still he did not come. He had to make sure his men were safe, that all who could leave were across that bridge. He refused to abandon them…the voice immediately called there were no more that could retreat, as though it could read his mind, see into the very core of the loyalty that motivated him. Normally, he would not trust such echoes he heard on the wind, worried they were the result of some twisted hallucination. But he knew this voice almost better than he knew his own, trusted it beyond anything else within the circles of the world. 

And so he marched forward, willing his body to move away from the flame and the hideous scream that wrenched the air into shards of death. He saw no more of his precious men, and allowed his heart to be light, if only for a quick moment. This time, as always, he would keep to his Captain's promise; first to enter, last to leave. He loved his men, and he'd be damned if he left any behind. Such devotion proved a lesson learned early in life from the elder one who protected him, putting such fidelity into practice from as far back as he could remember. It was now the elder one that called out to him, refusing to leave until he too was across that bridge. 

He finally reached the ancient stone overpass, whether in minutes or hours he did not know. There was no time for embrace or words of greeting, only a simple nod of appreciation and a quick check for any mortal wounds on him by the three men who stood there on the eastern shore of the Anduin. The first of the men, a ruggedly handsome soldier dressed in the fine armor of the Captain of the White Tower, gave him a quick grin of relief as his grey eyes glittered with light of battle. He sheathed his sword and nocked arrow on bow in preparation for the fell beast bound to be on the heals of the younger man who had just arrived. The Rangers behind him followed suit, arrows already nocked and at the ready in their own bows. Long ago, they swore to protect their lords, no matter how high the cost. Such a price proved fitting, for their love of the two men in front of them knew no bounds, and they were willing to make the trip to the Halls of Mandos to ensure their lords' safety. 

Dark and fell, its massive body rose from the flames, as though some evil, fiery servant of Melkor from the ancient Wars of Beleriand. On it sat, in all his arrogance and wickedness, the Lord of the Nazgul. Foul was its very air, black was his purpose, terrible was his wrath. For what right did these pathetic men have to deny the will of his dark master? They would wither, all four of them, screaming for death before the end, their minds torn asunder by sinister dreams of defeat. And he made ready to undertake such terrible actions, mercilessly drawing the reigns of the fell beast he rode, causing him to rear. 

He dove past them, and they let loose arrows, all hitting their mark. But the hide was too thick, their arrows barely piercing the hard scales, inflicting little injury. They quickly reloaded, the younger man nocking his arrow on his bow along with them this time as the Captain yelled to the rangers to fall back and cross the bridge to safety. But they simply nodded in disagreement, remaining steadfast, smiling their grim smiles as they focused on the task at hand. The younger man could not help but return their smiles, determination on his face despite the slim odds as he quickly turned back around to face their shared enemy. They shot again, this time, one of the ranger's arrows hitting the beast in its foul mouth as it tried to snap at him and break his body in two. In shock and pain it dove towards the bridge, its frenzied movements forcing them all to duck low. Its massive body hit the bridge with a pounding thud, causing the ground to shake as though Eru himself pulled at the roots of the earth.

While the beast was only injured and not near death, its master's deadly rage was fiercely evident, the air around them all dropping to an icy temperature, its malice invading every atom of existence. He swiftly drove the beast towards them again from behind, his screams wrenching the air, causing the men drop their weapons, their blood running cold as their hands covered their ears and they fell to the ground. Had they not collapsed to the hard earth, their fates would have sealed, their days ended by the snapping jaws of the beast. The Lord of the Nazgul flew over them, his beast's body hitting the bridge as he drew his sword. He slashed at the bridge, once, twice, three times, casting down the great structure. His actions were helped along by the fell animal, its enormous flapping wings causing the great stone bridge to split completely in two. Then, without warning, a slew of arrows from the men on the west bank pierced its hide, tearing the flesh at the side of its neck. Black blood sizzled forth, falling into the water as it screamed in agony, wings flapping to propel it upward. 

The younger man shouted, ordering everyone to drop any unnecessary items and weapons that would weigh them down. They did so without question as he dropped his sword and ripped at the strings tying together his leather jerkin. Getting the first ties loose, he was in the midst of shrugging out of the heavy garment when his brother grabbed him by the arm and pushed him into the river behind the other Rangers. They had to swim across, make it to the west bank, or face being trapped on the other with this nightmarish servant of Sauron. More arrows from men on the west bank zipped over them, hitting the beast again. Hope was renewed, if only for a little while. 

The shock of hitting the freezing water proved overwhelming, his limbs going numb as he sunk like a stone. He turned his head upwards, looking up past the glittering surface of his liquid prison. It was dark overhead, the night inky black, the stars glittering within the velvet cape of the sky.

…A Fortress of Stars to protect the greatest treasure of men. But that treasure has been lost long ago, cast into the river during one of man's darkest moments in history, a moment when men turned against each other to claim a lost throne. Kin-strife they called it. A small word that did little to explain the bloodshed and havoc Eldecar and Castamir wrecked upon each other's forces in their desire to claim power. Of course, the rightful heir won, but that great treasure, the greatest of the seven _palantíri_, too great to be lifted by one man, was lost into the dark, swirling depths of the Anduin in the chaos of the sack of the city… 

Odd, how the tales of old would come to him at the most peculiar of times, when they served no purpose but to blot out the chaos that reigned about him…

The river.

His fingers gripped the dagger as he frantically cut at the last strings of his leather jerkin, finally tearing past the ties, allowing him to shrug out of it. But he'd already reached the bottom of the river. It was not terribly deep, yes. But regardless, he was still trapped at the bottom, some feet of frigid water between him and the freedom of surface, to the air he was so desperately beginning to need. He tried to pull the hauberk over his head, but it was too heavy, the fine chain mail made infinitely weighty in water. He hunched down, to let the hauberk move up over his head, but again, it was too heavy, for moved but a little. But at least it moved. He ducked down again as he pulled the mail upwards, finding if he pulled hard enough, it would be over his head. It was now, but he could not see. So he pulled harder, wrenching at the mail, willing himself not to panic, not to scream and let out the precious air so necessary for his survival. Using the last of his strength, his muscles aching, he pushed his way out of the mail and threw it to the bottom of the river as he kicked upwards. Paddling up, his vision blurry from the lack of oxygen, his lungs on fire, he only knew that he must keep moving, salvation above him, darkness below…

Darkness. 

He would not fall into darkness, nor let his people do so, for the responsibility of their safe-keeping fell to him, a Son of Gondor. And if he failed, all hope would be lost, for hope was all that was left to him.

He would not fail. 


	3. Brothers in Arms

Early May, 3018

"Have you sent word?"

"Yes. She should receive the message late tonight, arriving tomorrow afternoon. Though, I assume she will send the healers straightaway out of necessity, as per usual."

"As it should be. All's well."

Removing his gloves, Boromir sat on the ruined stone by the ramparts of the large building in which he rested. He set down his sword and sighed with satisfaction, pleased with the knowledge that decisive victory had finally come after such long and bloody battle. Running a hand through his dark hair, his thoughts moved to the past two weeks and what they could come to mean for the future of his country. It had been an arduous time of constant fighting, and he was glad it was over, at least for the time being. For while he eagerly met his foes in such battle, taking pride and honor in defending the greatest city of Gondor and its people, whom he loved without question, he hated to see his forces decimated beyond repair. And while that had not happened this time, due to the combined will and wit of he and his brother, he knew in his heart such a thing could easily occur the next time if they were not cautious. Thus, they could not take this victory for granted; they must soon begin plans for defense of the outer regions, hopefully driving back Sauron's forces once and for all. Only then could light and beauty come back to the country he loved.

Next to Boromir stood Faramir, leaning on his longbow, one foot resting on the mound of smashed stones at his feet as he overlooked the ancient stone ramparts, his sea-grey eyes quickly scanning the scene below. Thousands of men ambled back in forth in the ruined, war-torn Osgiliath, their campfires dotting the landscape as they shouted relieved greetings to each other, searched for missing friends, and gathered their wits and weapons about them; generally the things men are want to do after a victorious battle, especially true in this case when such a thing proved so hard fought and hard earned. Faramir's eye wandered over to the makeshift tents, home to the wounded, their cries of pain and injury echoing into the night. The sound pulled at him, his heart filling with pity at those who had made such great sacrifices and now paid for it with their pain, and in many cases, their lives. With a steady sigh, he thought to the future, hoping that his people would live to see the shadow lifted, the magnificence and splendor of old return to their country. It was that to which he looked forward to the most, richer than any reward any man could hope to grant him.

"Why do you do sigh so, brother?" Boromir asked, opening his eyes, battling back the sudden wave of exhaustion that crept upon him.

"I only wish it were tomorrow, 'tis all," Faramir replied quietly as he looked over the ramparts, still studying the scene below him, his shoulders hunched in concern.

"As do I. But she will arrive soon enough. She always does."

"You're right. She worries too much not to," Faramir replied, voice suddenly becoming less serious as he turned to face his brother, a slight grin on his face. "You remember how long she took to say her goodbyes a fortnight ago?" he finished.

"I think she acquired that gift from watching you," Boromir replied, his own smile matching his brother's as readjusted his position, sitting up straighter. "One can never have too many people to worry over them, though," he added seriously.

"I cannot argue with that."

"We should go down to them," Boromir said after a long pause, standing and taking a place next Faramir, he too studying the scene below them. "Make the proper arrangements and such…"

"Aye," Faramir replied, looking to his brother, studying his face has he scanned the crowd. "You can never stand to be away from them too long, can you?" he asked softly. Boromir was silent for a few moments, eyes still scanning the crowd as his picked out some of his lieutenants, glad to see that at least some still lived.

"Can you?" he quietly countered.

"No."

"They fight for us, for home. It is the least I can do."

"As can I."

"Then it is answered. Shall we?" he nodded towards the ancient and worn stone steps leading down to the courtyard. Faramir began his descent, Boromir following.

"She will come," the elder brother said, as though reading his younger brother's mind, though he did not inherently contain such gifts.

"Then," he continued, eyes sparkling with renewed energy, "it will be a good day."

* * *

The old nurse pulled strings on the back of the dark blue dress tightly, tying and giving them a good tug to ensure they remained together, clucking in disapproval at the younger woman who kept fidgeting. Buttoning the sleeves of her dark purple shirt with silver edging and putting on her black riding gloves, the younger woman leaned down to fold the hem under, the candlelight serving as the only illumination in the room, for the sun had yet to rise. Stifling a yawn and speedily wiping the dust from the pattern of silver tree surrounded by seven stars embroidered onto the front of the hi-cut dress, under which she wore the collarless shirt, she quickly grabbed the black, fur-lined cloak from the back of chair, tying it around her throat and heading to the door.

"M'Lady, your hair!" the old nurse called to her. Grumbling, the young woman turned around and headed back to her room, sitting down in the chair and quickly grabbing a brush off the tabletop. Vigorously brushing her dark hair, she quickly finished, wrapping it a simple bun, grabbing the silver headband that lay to side of the brush and pushing it back onto her head.

"I really wish you would take more time…"

"They are simply just my cousins, Meniath. I assure you, they have seen me in worse states," she quickly said, rising out of her chair and grabbing the black velvet pouch from the table, tying it to her belt and walking over to where her nurse stood.

"I'm sure they are not the only ones you are keen on seeing," Meniath replied with a knowing smile.

"I do not know of whom you speak," the woman replied. She did not smile, but she was pleased as her thoughts went to the one she loved.

"Still," the nurse continued, "You should not rush."

Seeing the disappointed look on her nurse's face, the woman stopped, frowning at her own previous rude response.

"Forgive me, Meniath. I should not have been so cross," the woman said, taking the older woman's hands in her own and giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

"No need for such haste, 'tis all," Meniath replied, frown leaving her face at the woman's apology.

"You worry far too greatly over me, Meniath. It simply brings me joy that they sent word directly of the victory…It has been a long time since such news has come. And in all this, I forget my haste. You are right," she replied.

"Fine. But you still should spend a bit more time preparing to leave…"

"Do not worry over it," the younger woman replied quickly. "I really must go. Osgiliath isn't that far. I shall be there within the day at the most, if I ride hard," she continued, letting go of her nurse and heading out the door, stifling yet another yawn.

"Then why the rush, M'Lady?" Meniath countered.

"Because Gondor is victorious and Captains of Gondor send word to do so. And when they call, I go."


	4. Love and Victory

Finduireth looked for a familiar face in the massive crowd of soldiers, eventually guiding her horse to a proper spot and addressing the soldier standing there with his back turned away from her.  
  
"Sir?" she began quietly, getting his instant attention. Turning around, his clear blue eyes lit up as he reached up to take her around the waist, setting her firmly on the ground as she alighted from her horse. She handed the reins over to him, and took off her gloves, nodding in thanks.  
  
"My lady," he said, bowing slightly, though his eyes lingered on her face in a way that made her blush slightly before she had time to check herself.  
  
"Raeliar," she replied steadily, returning his bow with a slight curtsy, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Tall, if a bit on the lanky side, with longish dark hair and blue-eyed, Raeliar, while not classically handsome, had an open, if innocent face, predispositioned towards an easy smile and a wink. Such a face sometimes lulled those who did not know him into a false sense of disregard, not apt to take him seriously. But he was a skilled warrior, an expert at strategy, his ability to quickly adapt to various situations apparent. Such skills did not go unnoticed, for he'd quickly taken on the responsibilities as one of Gondor's highest-ranking lieutenants. One of Boromir's trusted and most talented lieutenants in his early years as Captain of the White Tower and now a captain of Faramir's Ithilien Rangers, Raeliar had grown up with both the Steward's children and their cousin, becoming one of their dearest friends.  
  
Initially, he'd spent most of his time with Boromir and Faramir, being two years younger than Boromir, attending the same schools and moving in the same social circles. But as they grew older and times changed, he had also become one of Finduireth's truest allies and friends, the only one willing to reveal accurate information on the whereabouts and actions of her cousins whenever they left on one of their numerous campaigns. Always ready with a quick smile and a helping hand, she came to love him as more than a friend for his honesty, humor and wit, as well as his unadulterated kindness. And she could not complain in his treating her as an equal in the same fashion her cousins naturally did. She was glad to find him among the crowd, for she loved him with all of her heart, as he loved her.  
  
"I am glad to have found you," she continued with a smile, rising and brushing back loose strands of her hair from her face. Looking at him and suddenly overcome with joy, she tossed all sense of protocol to the wind. Quickly taking his face into her hands, her lips sought his, kissing him hungrily, eager for the touch of him, desperately happy to see him alive. And he kissed her back with the same vigor, pulling her closer, arms wrapping around her waist, for they cared not who saw them, aware of only each other.  
  
Finishing, she leaned back into him, head resting beneath his chin, savoring the feel of being in his arms.  
  
"And what was that for, my love?" he whispered.  
  
"Your being alive."  
  
"Well, I cannot argue with that," he murmured, lips brushing her forehead.  
  
"It heartens me to see you have survived the latest action," she said.  
  
"It heartens me to see that you have come to witness it for yourself," the soldier replied, a genuine smile coming to his face as he took her hand, kissing it in further salutation.  
  
"Thank you," she murmured in appreciation, reluctantly pulling back from him. "It truly is a pleasure to see that my dear cousins continue to put their trust in such exceptional talent."  
  
"Talent which only such a lady of your stature could come to appreciate," he returned with a laugh, letting go of her hand and gently tugging on the reins of her horse to calm the excitable animal down. Catching one of his passing lieutenants, he handed her horse off the soldier, quickly telling him to ensure it was properly cared for and led to the makeshift stables. After doing this, he offered her his arm.  
  
"You flatter me, Raeliar," she replied with a smile, taking his arm.  
  
"And you do not?" he countered as he began to walk with her.  
  
"I compliment, sir, for flattery relies on false pretense, which I do not contain."  
  
"Well, you think quite highly of yourself! Say you that I contain such pretenses?" he said with mock distress. "For I mean every word of what I say, and hope that a lady such as yourself contains the ability to believe such things. For what would the world be if a lady cannot trust her servant?"  
  
"The world, my world, would be empty if I did not believe your compliment, for I now see I am wrong in declaring such words false. Sir, I take your words to my heart, where I shall keep them evermore, for such a compliment comes from no servant, but a true friend and love."  
  
"And for such a place in my lady's heart, I am grateful, asking for nothing more. No man can ask for any higher privilege and honor," Raeliar said, pulling her closer to him.  
  
"Then I can ask for nothing else, than to see my love happy," she replied, the blush returning to her cheeks.  
  
"I am glad for such things, M'Lady. I...expect you will be present at the banquet later this week to honor your cousins' mighty victory this day?" he asked.  
  
"Aye, If have naught to do for my Lord Denethor. And if I am not too busy with assisting here" she replied with a slight frown as she surveyed the chaotic scene.  
  
"I see not why he should not allow Gondor's daughter to be present? It would disappoint many if she did not come," he said with a raised eyebrow, his eyes sparkling with mischief.  
  
"I am glad hear that you would like me present. Others need me though, especially after such a great battle..."  
  
"I would like you present, Finduireth. Your actions off the battlefield go to great lengths to ensure the health of the men and leave them to fight for Gondor's glory another day. Without the Mistress of the Houses of Healing, many would perish."  
  
"I am nothing without the keen guidance of Ioreth and the Warden" she replied, thinking of the long hours she put in daily from the time she was a young girl to learn the seemingly thousands of types of herbs one had to remember to fulfill the job of a healer. True, she was the Mistress of the Houses, but that was a result of her birthrank rather than skill. With time though, she hoped to come at least within the edges of the spheres of knowledge Ioreth inhabited in the art of healing.  
  
Thoughts snapping back to the present, she continued.  
  
"With that said, I thank you for your kind words, Raeliar," she replied quietly, with genuine appreciation, leaning into him to emphasize her appreciation. "I only wish...others would see it as so..."  
  
"They do, M'Lady. They do," he said, turning to look at her as they continued to walk. "Even if they do not say it, the fact cannot be ignored," he continued, lowering his voice.  
  
"You are too good, Raeliar."  
  
"How can I not be for you?"  
  
She stood speechless at such an admission until Raelier gently squeezed her arm to get her attention again.  
  
"Finduireth, I must apologize, but I must take my leave of you. Ithilen Ranger business, you know," he said, dropping her arm and taking her hand in his. She looked at him, a slight frown coming to her face at the prospect of their separation.  
  
"Do not give me that long face, M'Lady. It does not become you," he said with a light laugh, squeezing her hand in reassurance. Letting go of her, he placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her around to face the proper direction. Leaning down, he spoke quietly into her ear.  
  
"I suspect you will find your cousin Faramir over by the ale," he said, guessing her purpose for coming.  
  
"Thank you...Raeliar," she replied, smile coming back to her face as she turned to face him. "You...I hope to see you at the banquet," she continued, attempting to sound casual.  
  
"And I you, M'Lady," he replied with a smile. "It cannot come soon enough."  
  
"Your help is much appreciated, as always," she replied with a sigh of relief.  
  
"I enjoy giving such help whenever I may. I take my leave Finduireth." He bowed to her with an affectionate smile, taking her hand and kissing it in goodbye as she curtsied to him once more.  
  
"Well, I shall see you then?" he asked.  
  
"Of course. I shall look for you first thing." she replied with a smile.  
  
"Then all is well!" he said returning her smile. Turning around and making his way through the swarm of soldiers, she watched as he disappeared into the crowd, only to be surprised as he came quickly walking back. Pulling her to him, he kissed her again.  
  
"I knew I forgot something," he murmured.  
  
"Well, I cannot argue with that," she replied.  
  
It was true. All was well.  
  
Standing high on the ramparts above his comrades in arms, his people, Boromir, Captain and High Warden of the White Tower firmly set down the standard of his beloved realm. Drawing his sword, he sung the praises of his newly victorious men.  
  
"This city was once the jewel of our kingdom. A place of light and beauty and music. And so it shall be once more! Let the armies of Mordor know this: Never again will the land of my people fall into enemy hands! The city of Osgiliath has been reclaimed - for Gondor!"  
  
"For Gondor!" they shouted in exaltation  
  
"For Gondor!" he cried.  
  
"For Gondor!" they shouted back in adulation.  
  
"For Gondor!" he shouted with pride.  
  
"For Gondor!" they answered proudly to their captain.  
  
It was a good day. 


	5. A Father and His Sons

"Good speech. Nice and short," Faramir teased with a smile as his made his way to Boromir.

"Leaves more time for drinking!" Boromir laughed, pulling Faramir to him in a hug and clapping him on the back. "Break out the ale! These men are thirsty!" he gestured to his soldiers, who cheered and immediately set to the task. Filling up two cups, he handed one to his brother, clinking the silver cup with his in a toast.

"Remember today little brother. Today, life is good!" he said, taking a long drink of the ale and laughing with contentment. It had been far too long such since happy times had touched his people. And with his brother here, he could ask for little more.

Finduireth made her way through the crowd, picking up the sides of her dress with both hands to ensure her speed. Finally reaching Faramir, she came to a stop, catching her breath and curtsying low.

"Hail, Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien!" she said in an attempt to keep the occasion formal since they were in public, but failing as a result of her delight, which overwhelmed her.

"I came as soon as I received word," she continued. "Glorious is this day for myself, but especially Gondor! Long we have waited for such news, for only through your efforts has this come to pass!"

"Cousin!" Faramir said with affection, setting his cup down next to the barrels of ale and taking her by the hand, lifting her up to pull her into a hug. "You took long enough to arrive!" he said with a smile, as she gave him a kiss on the cheek, hugging him back.

"I was here!" she said with insistence, a smile on her face as she pulled away and gave Faramir's hand a squeeze. "I came as soon as I received your messages. You are well?"

"Yes, I am well, Finduireth. And, you were here the entire time?" he replied, raising an eyebrow incredulously "Then what, pray tell, did your elder cousin say?" he challenged

"Personally, I enjoyed the 'place of light and beauty and music' part," she replied, eyebrow raised in identical incredulity. "The time is ripe for such things to return to Osgiliath."

"I must agree then. For beauty and music and light are what moves me, as you well know, little cousin." Faramir replied.

"Little cousin?!" she replied in mock disbelief, pulling completely out of his grasp. "Just because I am your cousin does not make me little.'"

That was true for the most part, for they were similar in many ways. Coming from the same bloodline, they contained the similar combination of dark hair and grey eyes, though she was not quite as nobly fair as he, and not quite as tall. Whereas Boromir had grown to be handsome image of his beloved mother but containing his father's temperament, Faramir had grown to be startling and handsome image of his father but containing his mother's temperament. At the same time though, the brothers were still physically strikingly similar. Finduireth in turn had grown to be the comely image of her grandmother Immenor, the oldest sister of Denethor. In temperament and personality Faramir and Finduireth were relatively matched. They shared a similar gift of clear sight, though hers had proven weaker as a result of the more mingled bloodline of her grandfather, Heliath, commoner lieutenant who served under Denethor in his younger days as Captain of the White Tower and who went on to marry Immenor. Finduireth had also grown far less passionate, rather more withdrawn and tense as the years passed on account of the darkening times. However, she and Faramir's interests proved similar, both loving music, beauty, learning and the lore of old. But where Faramir excelled at fighting, looking up to his brother's skill in such things, Finduireth excelled at healing, spending her time in the Houses of Healing as their mistress, helping men's hearts and bodies to do as such, looking up to Boromir as a brother for his ability to do the same through uniting his people and bringing glory to their homeland. The cousins' admiration and respect for each other and Boromir made them almost two equal halves of a whole, with the sense of fidelity between all three never in danger, no matter how dire the circumstance. For even though Finduireth was their cousin through being the grandchild of Denethor's sister, she had grown up with them since the age of one, her parents and grandparents having all died by the time she was four. She saw both more as brothers than cousins, with Denethor, her beloved grand-uncle, as a father.

"That we may be," Faramir replied. "However," he continued, teasing, "I was born before you, making me older of course," he said, spinning her around and pulling back into a hug with one arm. "There's no arguing with that. Besides, your _older_ cousin by five years is always right."

"You think quite highly of yourself , Faramir!"

"And you do not, Fin?"

"That is the second time I have heard that today…"

"The first from Raeliar. In jest, I assume?"

"How did you…?" she replied, cheeks getting warm.

"I saw you when you arrived. Quite a lengthy discussion you two had? And a bit more than that from what I saw, though I'm sure neither of you minded in slightest…"

"And just what are you inferring?" she replied with a nervous laugh. He spun her back around to face him, not allowing her time to recover herself.

"I think you know," he replied thoughtfully, studying her face in that way that she knew that he read her true heart.

"Faramir!" she quickly reproached, realizing what he was doing.

"And I would wish for no other to have my cousin's affections," he replied, an understanding passing between them as the smile returned to his face. She stood there for a moment, at a loss for words. Then, grabbing him into a hug, she whispered "Thank you. Your approval means everything."

"He is like a brother to Boromir and myself, keeping track of you when we are away. How could I not approve?" he replied, pulling out of her grasp and giving her hand a little squeeze. "So when is the official announcement of the engagement?"

"Within a few days, I promise. Uncle knows…or at least he suspects. I just had to inform you and Boromir first. Hopefully, he won't kill him," she joked in reference to her older cousin.

"I don't see why he would. They are the best of friends," Faramir replied. "Though, you may want to make sure Raeliar is far, far away when you tell Boromir that he has been secretly romancing his little cousin…"

"Please!" she said, playfully shoving Faramir away. "Boromir is fully aware of the situation, not to mention incapable of hurting a fly…unless it looks like an orc or some other foul creature…"

"You _do_ wish your fiancé to live to see his wedding day…" Faramir continued.

"You are too much, cousin," she replied, swatting him across the chest as he laughed at her. Quickly taking her hands before she hit him again, Faramir's voice became serious.

"Sincerely though, I cannot see a better match in all of Gondor. My heart is glad for you both."

"Thank you. Your nobility scares me sometimes," she teased. "But, we are all the better for it," she quickly added, voice becoming serious again. "One could not ask for more from family,"

"You flatter me, cousin," he replied, genuinely touched.

"I do not," she countered seriously.

"Well, I am glad that you think so," Faramir replied, eyes twinkling with delight. "Besides, how I could I not notice you two from the moon eyes you give each other?" he teased.

"You are cruel!" she replied with a laugh. "If you do not stop, I shall tell Boromir!"

"Tell Boromir what?" the man said turning to them.

"That I have come. Hail, High Captain and Warden of the White Tower!" Finduireth said, making her way out of Faramir's hug and curtsying low. Eyes widening at the realization she was there, Boromir pulled her from the ground by her shoulders and gave her a bear hug, lifting her from her feet.

"Finduireth! You came!"

"How could I not!" she said, out of breath from his hug as he set her back down. "When the Captains of Gondor call, I come," she replied, kissing him on the cheek.

"And your presence pleases the Captains of Gondor. You, bring this lady some ale!" he called out to one of his men. "I am sure she's thirsty after her ride…"

"I cannot deny that, thank you. You are well?" she said, eyes searching over his face in quick appraisal. "Uninjured?" she continued, taking his hands in hers.

"He has a cut, on his lower left arm," Faramir chimed in. "Though he refuses to do anything about it, as usual," he continued with concern.

"'Tis but a scratch!" Boromir said with a laugh.

"Boromir!" she chided. "How many times have I told you it is imperative that you tend to these things?!"

"Too many times," he said with a wave of his hand. "But you know, in the heat of battle one rarely notices a mere scratch…" he replied.

"Oh, let me look at it," she said. Taking the ale of his hand and setting it on the table she pulled up the torn sleeve of his tunic for inspection.

Upon further scrutiny, she found Boromir had a mildly deep slash across the middle of his forearm. The blood had dried by this time, but it still caused her to frown in concern. Untying the velvet pouch from her belt, she brought out a flask of mint and herb-infused water, along with a clean cloth. Wetting the cloth, she dabbed at the wound, cleaning it thoroughly. Pouring a bit more the water over it, she finally took out one of her kerchiefs, tying it around his arm.

"Thank you. But you worry too much, cousin," Boromir said with a grin of amusement, looking at his newly mended wound.

"I worry too little," she said grimly, taking his arm again to tighten the kerchief and pull his sleeve back down. "Besides, it is my job to worry over you both. Without you, I have nothing."

"I wish not for your heart to be heavy with such distressing things, Fin," he said seriously, placing his hands on her shoulders in reassurance. A smile suddenly coming to his face, he pulled her to his side, putting an arm around her shoulders as clapped a hand on Faramir's shoulder.

"Let us not cloud this day with sadness!" he said with newfound joy. "Today is our day. A day of victory for the children of Gondor!" Handing Finduireth a fresh cup of ale, Boromir raised his cup in toast.

"For too long have we lost hope. This victory is for all of us. Hope for the future of my land, _your_ land and the glory of Gondor. To Gondor!"

"To Gondor!" Faramir and Finduireth said in unison, clasping each other's hands and raising their cups. Taking a drink, they savored the taste of fresh ale, all of them quietly but blissfully basking in the fact that they were all together, something that posed more and more of a rarity as the years passed. Unfortunately, their peace was not to last.

"He's here," Faramir suddenly said quietly, worry reflecting in is eyes as he looked to his brother..

"What?" Boromir asked, concern shadowing his face.

"He's here," Faramir repeated.

Turning around to see who Faramir spoke of, Boromir's face fell at the sight in front of him.

"One moment of peace, can he not give us that?" he muttered in exasperation, looking at Faramir and Finduireth to ensure they were not troubled. Finduireth impulsively pulled away from him, taking up her position next to Faramir, her hand grasping her drink so firmly, her knuckles turned white. No one proved in the mood to deal with such an interruption.

Making his way through the crowd of excited men, Denethor, Gondor's Steward, shook his soldiers' hands with distracted delight.

"Where is he? Where is Gondor's finest? Where is my first-born?" he said, making his way through the crowd. His face fully lit up as he caught sight of Boromir and approached.

Steeling himself and taking a deep breath, Boromir put a smile on his face.

"Father!" he called, arms outstretched in greeting.

Reaching his son, Denethor quickly grabbed him into a hug.

"They say you vanquished the enemy almost single handed," he said joyfully.

"They exaggerate," Boromir replied carelessly. "The victory belongs to Faramir also," he said gladly, pulling out of his father's grasp and motioning for Faramir to come forward. Faramir did so, letting go of his cousin's hand, causing her steal back further from the reunion.

"But for Faramir, this city would still be standing," Denethor said, with a barely concealed sneer quickly replacing his previous smile. "Were you not entrusted to protect it?" he continued, face filling with displeasure.

"I would have done it, but our numbers were too few." Faramir said, eyes marked with hope as he attempted to explain.

"Oh, too few," Denethor continued with disdain. "You let the enemy walk in and take it on a whim." Faramir's face fell as Denethor continued, ignoring his son's reaction. "Always, you cast a poor reflection on me."

"That is not my intent," Faramir said slowly, struggling to keep his voice calm.

"At least you deem him worthy enough to cast any reflection at all," Finduireth muttered, eyes flashing with anger. "He does as you wishes, yet you give him no tribute. What more must he do to reflect on one so apparently great?" she countered derisively, voice laced with similar disdain uncannily like her uncle's as she reproached the Steward before she caught herself, realizing she was completely out of line, especially given the public place. She should have known better than to act like a petulant, spoiled child.

Denethor turned to her direction, startled at seeing her for the first time. Quickly bringing himself under control, he narrowed his eyes at her in contempt, quickly turning his back on her, shutting her out. She looked at his back to her, pain etched on her face. Eyes watering with unshed tears, she opened her mouth open as though she would call out. But suddenly, as though thinking the better of it, her mouth closed tightly, eyes burning, though with tears of sorrow or anger at her own irresponsible outburst at her uncle for showing him such disrespect, she did not know. Shakily and wordlessly curtsying to Denethor, body stiff as she tried to keep her emotions restrained, she rose and quickly turned. Giving a wordless kiss on the cheek to first Faramir and then Boromir, she walked away. Boromir flinched, distressed to see his cousin in such a state, resolving to find and comfort her injured pride. But more pressing insults needed reversal at the moment.

"You give him no credit, and yet he tries to do your will. He loves you, father!" Boromir said, voice cutting through the tension as he walked away from his father and into the stony ruins of the building next to them.

"Do not trouble me with Faramir" Denethor countered with contempt, following his eldest into the ruined structure "…I know his uses and they are few. We have more urgent things to speak of," he said dropping his voice and approaching his son so that he could be heard. Boromir looked at him in confusion as the Steward continued.

"Elrond of Rivendell has called a meeting. He will not say why, but I have guessed its purpose." Denethor continued, lowering his voice further. "It is rumored that the weapon of the enemy has been found," he said emphatically.

Boromir looked at him with wide eyes, emotions of numerous kind stirring in his heart, for that such a thing had come to pass lay beyond belief.

"The One Ring…Isildur's Bane," he whispered, as though to say it aloud would make it untrue.

"It has fallen into the hands of the Elves," Denethor continued, his grip tightening on his son's arm. "Everyone will try to claim it: Men, Dwarves, wizards. We cannot let that happen. This thing must come to Gondor."

"Gondor?" Boromir said with great apprehension.

"It's dangerous, I know," Denethor replied with renewed vigor, his eyes alight at the prospect that such a thing would ensue. "Ever the Ring will seek to corrupt the hearts of lesser men. But you, _you_ are strong. And our need is great."

"It is our blood which is being spilt, our people who are dying," he continued vehemently, voice lowering to just barely above a whisper. "Sauron is biding his time. He's massing fresh armies. He will return. And when he does, we will be powerless to stop him. You must go. Bring me back this mighty gift."

Boromir looked at his father anew, foreboding in his heart as he looked into the Steward's eyes, which were alight with a fire hereto unseen. It was as though Denethor aged before his very eyes, suddenly become very old, possessed with mechanizations of power and the glory of Gondor.

The glory of Gondor. That is what Boromir sought, what he and his brother and cousin had spent their lives pursuing, though his father had slowly refused to see their parts in such a thing over the years, something which troubled him greatly, for such changes in his father were bizarre and dark, making less and less sense as time stretched on. What good could it to for him to leave now? Leave his men dangling on the precipice between glory and defeat? For while they had reclaimed Osgiliath, the battle was not yet won. There was still much to do, enemies to overcome, cities to rebuilt, Gondor to repair and bring back to glory days of old. No, he could not to go to such a council, based only rumor and whispers, filled with the races quarrelling and covetous for power. Pulling himself from his father's grasp, he turned his back on the Steward, leaving the ruined building to be outside with his men.

"No. My place is here with my people. Not in Rivendell," Boromir forcefully said. Yes, he had to remain for his people. For his brother and cousin.

"Would you deny your own father?!" Denethor all but shouted, quickly catching up to him. Having heard his brother, Faramir walked up to where they stood, but hung back against the wall, offering what he saw as the solution to such a problem.

"If there is need to go to Rivendell…send me in his stead…" he calmly addressed his father. Denethor's eyes quickly fell on his second son, a smirk on his lips.

"You?" he said scathingly. "Oh, I see. A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality?" He snorted with derision at the concept. "I think not," he continued, looking to Boromir. "I trust this mission only to your brother. The one who will not fail me."

Boromir turned to face his father as Faramir's face fell. And so it was decided. It would be, Boromir, Captain of the White Tower, who would make the trip to Rivendell, his fortune yet to be seen.


	6. Second Best

"Forgive me..."

"I know, my Lord. There is no need to say it yet again as I understand. The strain of the situation..."

"Must you always make excuses for others when there is no need to?"

"Would you rather me blame you outright?"

"No. But at least let me take full responsibility for my actions. Again, I apologize for what passed in Osgiliath earlier this week..."

"And you are sorry for it. You always are. And as always, I accept your apology. I cannot do anything else," Faramir replied quietly.

Denethor looked at his younger son, startled by his swift response to the attempted apology. Disappointment darkened the older man's eyes as he took in the hunched figure sitting across from him at the round table, picking at his food, the sound of the metal fork hitting the plate echoing throughout the empty hall. It was as though the young man withered before him, the sadness etched all over his face, the shoulders hunched in defeat, the fingers tapping nervously on the table. It petrified him so to see his son, his own blood, so withdrawn. He had seen it before, in another he had also loved just as much, with all his heart. And he wished not to witness it yet again, the terrible consequences of such melancholy. It would be too much for him to bear the second time around.

"Sometimes so much like his mother before him. Such sensitivity," he thought. If only he had been stronger, like his brother. Or even better, if only he had been born in a different time. A time without such war and darkness, and freedom from the evil that seemed on the brink of enveloping the world, the forces of good balanced on the precipice, ready to fall into darkness. He would have made an excellent Steward in another, more peaceful and prosperous time. His wisdom and gentle ways, his heart so easily stirred to pity those about him who lacked such fortitude, while not in the way of the father, still proved fit for a leader of men if that different way of life existed. But now was not the time to dwell on what ifs.

"Well," Denethor continued, gruffness returning to his voice as he banished his own melancholy thoughts from his head, mind snapping back to the matter at hand, "I simply wished to let you know."

"That is all I ask of you, my Lord."

"I am your father Faramir. You need not be so...impersonal," Denethor found himself criticizing, much to his own apprehension. Why, he wondered, had he found himself censuring his son so much more often as of late? It did not seem right...

"Fine father," Faramir answered resolutely, finally looking up at his father.

Uncomfortable silence settled between them, only the sounds of eating and drinking echoing off the vast space of the Steward's private dining room as the two sat together in a rare private dinner. They were both dressed simply, finery and frippery unnecessary since they were not in the presence of the court. The dining room proved otherwise, decorated richly, the intricately carved stone walls covered in countless bright tapestries recounting various tales of Númenor and the creation of Arda. The largest and most elaborate of these, recounting the flight of Elendil and his sons over the sea, hung above the grand fireplace at the head of room. Its matching tapestry, recounting the Music of the Ainur, hung at the back of the back of the room, just the left of the numerous bookcases holding various parchments and books. Volumes on historic warfare and strategy filled the bookcases, for these had proven Denethor's favorite subjects, the vast knowledge of which he had also found necessary and effective in securing the safety of his people. Overall, this room usually proved one of Faramir's favorites, for it reminded him of the rare times his family spent together, away from the business and noise of court. This, combined with the detailed tapestries that helped along his childhood imagination of the tales of his ancestors, made this space one of his most treasured.

'Twas a pity the very air he currently breathed seemed so chocked tension and unresolved anxiety.

"I wish we spent more time like this," Denethor found himself blurting out quickly, breaking the lingering silence between them as he gestured around at the space. "I so rarely get to lay eyes upon my own sons anymore. With so many events happening in the world and all, there is little time for the things that matter," he finished quietly, carefully softening the words so that Faramir would not misunderstand it to be a criticism, but rather, a sad statement of fact.

Faramir hastily looked up, startled at the admission, immediately seeing that his father was truthful as the Steward's intense gaze focused on him.

"With Boromir leaving for Rivendell so soon, I fear..." Denethor faltered, hurriedly taking his cup and sipping the wine as he found he searched for the proper words. Odd how he proved usually so eloquent, yet as always, he lost his words around his son. _This _son at least.

"I fear," he began again, "that our times together become less and less. And that is a great shame."

"Yes," Faramir agreed, also taking a sip of his wine and falling silent. Apparently, he had lost his words as well.

"Well," Denethor said again after a long while, setting aside his plate and standing, walking over to the tall cabinet of drawers behind Faramir. "We have important matters to attend to."

Opening the chest of drawers, he pulled out a number of parchments, along with quill and ink. Pulling the cord next to the door to summon the servants, who quickly appeared, he directed them to clear the table and bring a fresh decanter of wine, also bidding them that they were not to be disturbed. After completing the task, Denethor walked around the room, lighting more lamps to brighten the dim atmosphere, motioning for his son to stand by his side. Unrolling one of the parchments revealed a detailed map of Minas Tirith, each level of the city carefully drawn to the most minute detail.

"There is a garrison of soldiers on each level of the city," Denethor began. "They are trained for battle, but having not seen as much action as those in the field, they will of course have to be taken through their training exercises yet again. Daily. I am sure you are able to manage that?" It was a statement rather than a question, to which Faramir nodded an affirmative.

"Since you have yet to command the armies of Minas Tirith, I expect you will at first defer to one of your brother's commanders for protocol and such. These armies are no loose alliance of men as the Rangers are. There are rules to be enforced, protocols to follow, traditions to continue..."

"I remember as such from my lessons when I was young," Faramir quickly countered, standing across the table from Denethor, his hands clasped easily behind his back as he studied the maps. He did not bother to look up at the Steward as he spoke, his attention focused on committing the figures on the parchment to memory.

Denethor could not help but give his son a wry half-smile.

"Surely, you do not expect me to believe you remember everything from schooling some 20 years ago?" he asked, cynicism in his voice. Looking back down at the map with a dismissive wave of his hand, he quickly continued. "As I said, you will defer to one your brother's lieutenants..."

"My Lor...Father, I _do_ remember my lessons. My mind is as keen as yours. You seem to remember every little event with the same insight, as do I." Looking up, Denethor saw his son looked at him in a way that he knew he read his father's heart with his clear sight. Catching the Steward off guard, it left him little time to close his heart and mind to such scrutiny. His son's gaze was one of confidence, of challenge even.

It was as though he was looking into a mirror 60 years in the past. Such a realization made the older man's heart falter, though he did not outwardly show it.

"Well, I assumed you would not know," Denethor replied sternly, swiftly collecting himself.

"You assume much," Faramir countered with the same quiet but steely and determined tone.

"I do," Denethor replied after some seconds of silence, choosing his words carefully. "And thus, since you have never commanded the armies of this city as High Warden of the White Tower, I say you should defer some authority to those who have had the chance to do so."

"I have already spoken to Boromir of the subject. And while we have much more to discuss, I have found that the job will require some of the similar qualities one must contain as a leader of other things," Faramir replied slowly, choosing his words with the same, if not more caution. "Hence, I will use his advice and that of his lieutenants, to whom I will defer," he finished in a conciliatory tone upon seeing the age-old look of irritation on his father's face.

"Well I am glad you have had such discussions about the security of this city with your brother without consulting me!" Denethor replied tersely. Inwardly flinching, he quickly realized how irate his words sounded. Suddenly finding himself quite tired, he took a sip of his wine, siwftly sitting back down in his chair. A look of concern clouding his face for a few seconds upon seeing his father's sudden exhaustion, Faramir sat down as well. Uneasy silence fell again between them again, broken only by the slight rustle of the papers on the table. Rummaging though the other parchments, Faramir picked out another map, this time one of Osgiliath, summarily spreading it out across the table to study it.

"One of the last defenses of the city appears to be Cair Andros," he began after a long while, pointing to the island in the middle of the Audin. "Granted, we cannot possibly move further up the coast to meet to Cosairs in open combat, but the island may prove the lock our enemies will fail to open..."

"Osgilath is the last defense," Denethor replied, cutting Faramir off. "It may have been won through the efforts of your brother for now, but the enemy will return, mark my words."

"Then why not move to defend the island and the coast, effectively cutting off our enemies? It will slow them down just enough to hinder their efforts to attack in one fell swoop."

"Because it is obviously unnecessary to do so. Defend Osgiliath first and then we move to reclaim what has been taken."

"Then we shall need more men," Faramir added, emphasizing his point by pointing to the city's place on the map, the meaning of his words made stronger by his close loss of Osgiliath before Boromir arrived with reinforcements the previous week.

"We may. Or may not. That all depends on what methods you undertake to defend that position," Denethor replied evenly. "Assuming you do not fail me, Minas Tirith may still stand for yet a while. And that is assuming our allies to the North heed our call if it should come to that. You will have to hold the city and the outlying regions until your brother returns, supposing you can manage that."

"I shall try my best to do your will..."

"One can only hope you shall do more than 'try,'" Denethor replied, derision making itself known in his voice, causing Faramir to sigh in resignation, if not outright frustration.

"Forgive me, for my strategy reflects so poorly on you, father," he began quietly, though his voice was not without resolve.

Again, all too familiarly, the two men found themselves without words.

"Were that you born in another time, you would have made a fine Steward," Denethor began, his own words laced with troubled bitterness rather than acute anger. "But since you will be taking your brother's place as Captain of the White Tower," he continued, voice flat again. "You will have to call upon other talents than what you currently use. War takes place in the real world, not between the pages of some book in the libraries. In such dark times as these, there is no room for simple efforts. Results are required, the enemy must be driven back and eliminated, our people defended by more than half-wishes and poor attempts. And I will not be denied such things. Do not disappoint me, Faramir," Denethor replied rising from his chair, clasping his hands behind back and turning from Faramir. "You shall have as many reinforcements that can be spared," he finished squarely, facing his son again.

Faramir pushed away the maps on the table, stood up and stretched his tired arms as he mulled over his father's words. It would be difficult, he knew, to walk in Boromir's shadow. It was not their men he worried about, but rather the extent to which they could hold out. He wondered as to whether he would prove able to conjure the strength to lead them in such troubling times, keep up their morale as the shadows lengthened. If, and only if their current luck held would they prove able to defend the outer regions. He and Boromir would definitely have to iron out such things many times before his departure. And maybe even Mithrandir would have more to say about it...

Looking up suddenly on account of some intangible warning, he quickly saw Denethor give him a disapproving look, causing Faramir to immediately shield his thoughts, keeping them to himself. Apparently, he would have to wait to consult others.

"I thank you father for allowing me such great responsibility," he finally conceded. Better to leave this meeting with the Steward in a more conciliatory mood, as he knew from experience. Gathering up the maps, he nodded to his father, a silent signal for permission to take the parchments into his care for further study. Denethor allowed it with a casual wave of his hand as he too stood.

"And I look forward to seeing you live up to such an opportunity," Denethor replied steadily, capping the decanter on the table and striding over the door, pulling the cord for the servants to clear away the last of the dishes. Knowing they had scattered as a result of his earlier request to not be disturbed, he was in no rush. Turning around to see his son had completed rolling the parchments, he finished his thoughts aloud.

"Am I to be assured that you will prove a worthy leader?"

"I give you my word and hope that my talents please you, father."

"Our people depend on us, on _you _from now on," Denethor replied quietly, though the satisfaction in his voice proved barely concealed. "With great power comes great responsibility," he continued, striding over to where Faramir stood, the freshly rolled parchments in his hands. "And with great responsibility," he said, clasping Faramir by the shoulder, "Comes great hope. Do not fail me, my son. I will not allow Gondor to fall to its doom," Denethor finished, voice serious, eyes bright with uncharacteristic worry.

"I shall not," Faramir replied, seeing the relief on his father's face as soon as the words left his mouth. The Steward let go of him, expression visibly relaxing as his mind turned to lighter matters.

"You will not miss the banquet the night after tomorrow?" Denethor asked. It was a command rather than a question, but that did not matter to Faramir, for he was only too glad to think on fairer events as well.

"Indeed. I look forward to it," he replied genuinely, grinning slightly. It would allow him time to catch up with his brother as well as congratulate his men on a job well done. It was the least they deserved, and he would be pleased to give them such honor them face-to-face.

"Good. Then all's well." Denethor looked down at the papers in his son's hands, thoughts wondering to the days ahead.

"I expect you to study those, committing them to memory," the Steward instructed. "One can never depend on a map alone, for it is not always within his reach during the chaos of battle," he finished.

With a curt nod, Faramir bowed slightly.

"Shall I take my leave of you, father?"

"Aye, you may," Denethor replied, voiced edged with weariness as he took his seat again. It had been a long day, to say the least. Nodding to Faramir, he gave his leave for him to go.

Making his way out the door to the dining room, parchments tucked under an arm, Faramir returned the cursory nod of the servants passing him on their way to attend to his father. Seeing the lamps lighting stone hallways had burned down significantly, their golden glow dimly dancing on the walls, he sighed, knowing he would have but a few hours of sleep. He must rise early if he expected to meet with his brother in order to discuss what had passed this night. Not to mention they had further plans to make to ensure the safety of the city in the coming times. While Faramir did not look forward to managing only a few hours of sleep, he took comfort in the priceless advice he knew Boromir would provide. There were none wiser in the ways of warfare and defense of his beloved city and country.

With such thoughts on his mind, Faramir summarily made his way through the twists and turns of the hallways of the palace, reaching his quarters within a short time. Carefully, he set the parchments on the cluttered desk of his study. He had found little time, as of late, to organize the numerous volumes lining the shelves and stacked in piles along the edges of the room. Even the desk was strewn with numerous books, bits of written-on paper, quills, and bottles of ink of various shades. He wouldn't have it any other way. Few places held the same appeal of such comfortable clutter. But now, he had more important matters to attend to, such as becoming reacquainted with his bed. Moving to the bedroom, he promptly prepared for bed. Snuffing out the candle, he crawled into comfort of the thick mattress, soft blankets and down pillows, looking forward to falling asleep quickly.

_Yes, _he thought, eyes closing, mind drifting off to the recess of dreams. _Tomorrow will yield fine results indeed._


	7. Celebration

"Rivendell?" Finduireth whispered with shock, tugging nervously at the sleeve of her long-sleeved, high-cut black velvet dress, upon the front of which lay the emblem of Gondor embroidered in silver. As mistress of the Houses of Healing, she had been delayed by the exhausting work to be done and directed there after the end of the battle earlier that week, leaving no time for her to regroup with her cousins. Needing time to dress and affix her hair in the complicated knot, the slim silver circlet resting on her head, she had newly arrived at the night's banquet, which had been in progress for a good hour or so. All three were dressed officially for the occasion, her cousins wearing their officer's garments; long black velvet sleeveless jerkins with the Gondorian emblem embroidered in silver on the front, the collar and tied front opening trimmed in fine silver, red, and dark blue embroidery. While Faramir wore a dark blue velvet high-necked, long-sleeved tunic marked with embroidered gold leaves underneath his jerkin, Boromir wore a red one. Since it was a banquet rather a military ceremony, they wore no armor or hauberks, though they carried short swords, more for decoration rather than necessity. With black boots and breeches to complete the ensembles, and she in her formal dress, all three formed the very picture of the highest of Gondorian nobility.

Merethrond, The Hall of Feasts, was decorated for the victorious occasion, its marble columns wreathed with white and puple flowers. It proved a place of joy and beauty this night, food piled high on the tables, candlelight sparkling and music drifting through the air. Hundreds of noblemen and women, as well as soldiers and their wives and consorts wandered to and fro, congratulating each other on the feats of the past week, content to be in such great company and glad to have such honor showered on them by their Steward. Occasions such as these had become a rarity as the shadow from the East grew and deepened, the victories coming fewer and far between. But for now, all focused on the carefree festivities.

It did not match the moods of Denethor's children or his grand-neice, for none, save themselves, knew how heavy their hearts now were.

"Rivendell?" she questioned again, not believing it.

"Yes," Boromir replied, as though not quite accepting it himself.

From the moment Finduireth entered Merethrond, she looked for her cousins among the crowd. Not finding them, she gave a formal, but distant greeting her grand-uncle. She realized she was being unfathomably ridiculous and juvenile for still holding anger at him over the events in Osgiliath earlier that week; her refusal to apologize first, her pride threatening to outweigh all good sense, made her come off as a coward. Admitting this to herself, she resolved to set things right soon. But now was not the time in such a public forum. Perhaps after the celebration.

Greeting Denethor's advisors and their wives as well, she worked her way through the hall, making the usual rounds and salutations. Upon seeing her complete this, Boromir approached her, silently bowing, placing a glass of berry wine in her hand and guiding her through the crowd to a spot on the sidelines of the celebration, by the wall behind a great marble column. Judging by the grim look on his face, she knew something was wrong. She was thankful for the rare stolen moment away from everyone else to find out what could be the source of such trouble in his heart.

Huddled deep in conversation, between sips of his wine, he told her everything of what passed between himself and her uncle at Osgiliath. She listened, face growing grim and paler by the moment, unable to believe such circumstances had come to be. By the time he finished, her throat had tightened as she sighed in deep frustration.

"I…assume you told Faramir of this?" she questioned in a shaky voice.

"He was the first to know."

"Good. You know…he was the first to have the…"

"Dreams? Yes, he told me of his first one and every time thereafter whenever they returned," Boromir replied grimly. His yes darted away from hers in agitation as he brought his hand to his temple, as though to relieve a headache.

"Are you well?" she asked, immediately noticing his discomfort.

"Yes…no," he replied quickly, changing his answers at seeing the doubt written on her face. None of the three had ever been able to hide anything from each other.

"Fin…?"

"Yes?"

"I…started having the…dreams as well."

Here eyes widened at the admission. She knew Faramir had dreamed it roughly two weeks ago, the night before the attack on Osgiliath. He told her the words, the haunting rhyme as it came to him in the dream. And soon she found she had become obsessed with it, attempting to no avail to research it in the archives. At first she blamed the obsession on her anxiety for her cousins' safety, on her own efforts to distract herself from thinking too much on whether or not they would return from the battle. That is until Boromir revealed the dream to them both a few days into the attack. He had returned to Minas Tirith later that week to meet with his father and brother in counsel and to secure additional troops. There, all three discussed it amongst each other the night before the meeting with the Steward the next day. It was then Faramir decided to inform her grand-uncle of it. But knowing Boromir's abilities lay elsewhere, she did not expect him to begin having the dreams as Faramir had done.

"_Seek for the Sword that was broken,_" he began to say, as though in a trance. "_In Imladris it dwells; There shall be counsels taken/Stronger than Morgul-spells_. _There shall be shown a token/That Doom is near at hand, For Isildur's Bane shall waken, And the Halfling forth shall stand._"

"When did you start?" she asked, voice wavering and taking a long gulp of her wine after a long silence at the shock of what just transpired.

"Starting a little over a week ago, later on the same night we discussed Faramir's dream."

"Of course you told uncle of your having them in your council?"

"Which is why he insists I go."

"But you are journeying to Rivendell, not Imladris…"

"Faramir quickly realized 'Imladris' is the ancient term for Rivendell, which father confirmed."

"Oh. I see," she replied slowly, setting down her glass.

"Faramir wished to go in my stead," Boromir continued, "he being the one with the dreams first. But father would not allow it, refusing him immediately."

"I am not surprised," she replied, frowning.

"It goes beyond principle; best he not go," Boromir continued quickly. "The road is far too dangerous for him to journey alone, and I know you wish no harm to come to him…"

"He wishes you to go alone, without a company?! I wish no harm to come to either of you!" she replied with alarm, taking his hand in both of hers. "Why not send out a small company with one of your or Faramir's lieutenants? It would be safer with many rather than just one. You are needed here, both of you, with your people…with us!"

"Ah, but this trip is for the sake of them all, don't you see?" Boromir replied with a tense smile. "It could be the key to Sauron's utter defeat. And you know such a thing is far greater than any of us. But also, father wishes to keep it a secret," Boromir continued, dropping his voice.

"A secret? It is only a journey to see the Elves, seek their council on this dream, this rhyme. Surely, all one would have to do is send back word…"

"There is far more to it than that, little cousin," Boromir said with a mirthless laugh. Her eyes narrowed in concentration as she let go of him and they both finished their glasses, placing them on the tray of servant who passed. She picked up two more glasses for them, handing one to Boromir as she gulped down the other one. They remained silent for a while to ensure no other passersby would hear them. Setting her glass down and wringing her hands, her heart grew heavier as she tried to discern his meaning.

"Are you not allowed to speak of it? Does Faramir know?" she rushed out.

"Yes but he does know, for I told him immediately, though he confided in me he was able to determine it when Mithrandir came here to city to research the archives."

"Yes. I remember, though I regret I was unable to see Mithrandir at the time…"

"Well, Gandalf was inquiring on specific things as Faramir told me. The archives…of Isildur."

"Isildur, as in Isildur's Bane as the dream speaks? The great kings who came over the sea?" she said, eyebrow arching in bewilderment.

"Yes…Isildur's Bane," he repeated as her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Forgive me, but I do not understand…"

"Which is why we all have to discuss this further," he began as one of his lieutenants approached, ambling up behind her.

"Here I have found you, luckily both of you! Warden of the White Tower! Lady Finduireth! I congratulate you in our victory!" the dark-haired soldier said with a lopsided smile, bowing low in an exaggerated fashion that gave away his pleasure in the drink that night.

"Thank you sir, though the honor belongs to my cousins," Finduireth replied turning to face him and automatically going into a deep curtsy, forcing herself to smile as he rose from the bow. She looked sideways at Boromir, eyes silently begging him relieve them of the situation. Seeing her reaction and agreeing wholeheartedly, Boromir returned to formalities as taught to him through years of training.

"I thank you, Thaenor, Soldier of Gondor!" he replied, also forcing himself to smile. Finduireth quickly moved to the background to allow her cousin to conduct his business, not to mention he would prove better at getting rid of their interloper.

"The honor is yours, my liege. I only follow your orders!" the soldier replied jubilantly.

"That for which I am grateful," Boromir said, clapping the soldier on the back.

"Surely, you cannot deny us a toast? Your men are waiting on the floor…"

"And I shall accompany you. How can I deny my men?!" Boromir replied with fondness. "Cousin," he said turning to her, taking her hand and bowing slightly in formal goodbye, "I take my leave of you." Leaning in and kissing her brow, he whispered "Meet me in awhile, in the back garden, by the Lebethron tree." Leading his man away, he looked back over his shoulder at her, mouthing "Find Faramir!" Nodding in understanding, she turned to do her task.

* * *

Glancing around the crowded hall, Finduireth couldn't help but frown. Apparently, all of Minas Tirith had turned out for the festivities. Though she certainly didn't blame them for attending, such large numbers would make it difficult for her to find Faramir. "Well," she thought, "'Tis nothing to do but start searching." Granted, she'd always hated large crowds, preferring her own solitude or company with a few chosen friends. But now was not the time to indulge her odd habits and anti-social tendencies. She had to find Faramir. Fortunately, at least she would have a chance to approach the immense dining table located in the center of the room. Stacked high with various delicacies, all equally tempting, she made her way over to it, choosing a few and placing them on the small saucer handed to her by one of the servants. "Once can never accuse him of being scant with his guests," she thought of her uncle as she licked the sugar off her fingers from one of the fruit-filled pastries. It had been a long time since there was a reason for such celebrations. And she was glad to be a part of it, especially after the grueling week at the Houses of Healing.

Scanning the room again in her search, her grim thoughts were quickly replaced by fairer ones as she picked out a familiar face in the crowd. Setting down her plate and hurriedly making her way to the far side of the hall, she waved gaily at the tall black-haired woman surrounded by a bevy of other guests. Immediately noticing her actions, the woman returned the gesture with a bright smile, quickly motioning for Finduireth to hurry to her.

"I thought I might never catch up with you!" the woman replied, another smile lighting up her shockingly beautiful features and making her azure-blue eyes sparkle as Finduireth approached. "I thought you might go and do and your typical skulking about the edges of the crowd," she continued with a teasing wink as she took Finduireth's hands in her own and leaned in to kiss her on one first cheek and then the other in familiar greeting.

"I must say, my dear, you look wonderful. Were that Elbereth to grant everyone such a gift!" she continued with a tittering laugh. Finduireth couldn't help but chuckle at the words of obvious flattery. But it was to the least to be expected of her friend, for she always had such a way with words. Her ability to make everyone feel as though they were the center of her attention always proved the key to her excellent reputation. And ever since Finduireth could remember, it proved a wonderful contrast to her own more withdrawn personality.

"And you look as beautiful as a new dawn, Ireilas," she replied truthfully with a wry grin as Ireilas' eyes widened with amusement.

"You flatter me," Ireilas cooed in agreement. "Apparently, such eloquence runs in the family… I assume you have met everyone at one time or another?" she said with a wave of her hand around the crowd of mostly women who surrounded her. Finduireth nodded, greeting each with formal bow. Nearly all of the women were well known to and good acquaintances of hers, they being the wives various soldiers and a few of the Rangers. The men she knew as either Boromir's or Faramir's lieutenants. She had grown up with most of them as a result. Smiling and nodding back her, they resumed carrying on their talk of the city and important bits of gossip. After a while and with some of her usual humorously clever words, Ireilas shooed them away.

"So," she began, immediately taking Finduireth by the arm and guiding her into a less crowded area so they might have a little privacy. "You obviously have much to say judging by your heavy heart. Speak," she all but commanded, her voice taking on a far more serious tone than the tittering one she previously used while in other, less familiar company.

"And how are you?" Finduireth replied, ignoring the question. "How is little Caelin?" she continued, referring to Ireilas' 4-year-old son. "It has been too long since I've had a chance to see him…"

"Oh no you will not," Ireilas quickly said, her tone still serious and effectively cutting her off. "No attempts to be wily and change the subject," she continued, a grin coming to her face. "Something weighs heavily on your mind. I can see it, so out with it."

Finduireth sighed, taking two glasses of berry cordial off of a passing tray, passing one to her friend and quickly gulping her own down. No one could ever get much of anything past Ireilas. Whether or not it was because of her being six years older or the result of other perceptive gifts, she had never been able to ascertain. It could have easily been the latter, especially considering Ireilas' parents were from Belfalas and of high blood. Her parents' lineage had crossed before, with her father's grandfather being the youngest brother of Aglahad, a former Prince of Dol Amroth. Her mother's people had moved from Bay of Belfalas to Dol Amroth some hundreds years ago to escape the Kin-strife, mingling with others in Imrazôr's line as well. Their good breeding showed in their children; Ireilas, her older brother Irelan, as well as her younger brother Ireliar were exceedingly striking, their tall graceful figures, black hair, azure-blue eyes and fair skin creating an attractive picture. Their decorous personalities tempered by their odd sense of humor certainly did not hurt either. All were considered prime marriage material. But the hearts of such spouse-seekers were quickly stayed, for all had married relatively young, Ireilas being the last one some five years ago. Her husband Cairborn was one of Faramir's Ranger company. Her brothers were in Boromir's company, with Irelan becoming a captain a year ago. Finduireth had been Ireilas' dearest friend from the time she was ten, she becoming Ireilas' apprentice at that age in the Houses of Healing. Being raised with the boys, it proved invaluable to have the friendship of what was the equivalent of an elder sister. And Ireilas kept such a relationship close to her heart.

"Unfortunately it has been quite boring, for better or worse," Finduireth shrugged, still avoiding the subject at hand. "There is really nothing to discu…"

"Aye, there is," Ireilas cut her off again. "That's why you were standing there over in the corner, looking forlorn and worried after Boromir left you. And considering it was him talking to you, and that I have known him for at least as long as I have known you, I highly doubt he said something offensive or cruel. Hence, it must be some event weighing on your mind."

Cutting straight to the matter at hand, like a well-placed dagger to the heart had always been Ireilas' method of operation. Finduireth rarely begrudged it.

"Look," she said, absentmindedly playing with her glass as she thought of telling all that had passed. "It is just, well…tonight is just such a rare occurrence…and I am out of my element, 'tis all," she lied. A better time would come to unload her worries. And it would not do to ruin someone else's enjoyment of tonight.

Ireilas looked at her for a moment, her eyes scanning her face, brow furrowing in a combination of confusion and worry. Well, it would be no matter now; she would get it out of her eventually she hoped. Her face quickly going back to its usual look of general detachment, she continued.

"The sin of omission has always been your specialty," she said nonchalantly so that it would come out as more a statement of fact rather than an insult. "But considering the situation," Ireilas continued, eyes quickly darting over to where Boromir stood chuckling in the midst of his men as he raised his glass in another toast, "I assume it has to do with some sort of affair of state."

"To say the least, yes," Finduireth replied resolutely after a long silence. "Do not begrudge it…"

"I do not," Ireilas replied truthfully. "It is the same as when I cannot tell you of Cairborn's activities. Considering the dark times, one could not ask of any less."

"You forgive too much, Ireilas."

"You assume too much. I simply have my priorities in the right place," she replied, face brightening with a smile as she grabbed another glass of wine off the tray, offering it to Finduireth. "Besides, I _will_ find out eventually, assuming the news is not too dangerous…"

"And now, you give yourself too much credit."

"Do I?" Ireilas said returning Findureth's wry smile.

"We shall see. Speaking of which, have you seen Faramir?" Finduireth quickly said, changing the subject and sipping her drink.

"You know, I actually think I may have," Ireilas replied, standing up on her tiptoes so she could properly scan the crowd. "Ah, of course. There he is!" she said, gesturing with her glass towards the back of the hall. "And my husband and brother-in-law Anborn are with him, no doubt ready to cause him trouble," she said with a falsely put-upon sigh.

"I expect no less of them both," Finduireth laughed. "Apparently, they cannot help but cause all sorts of 'trouble' for themselves and anyone else in their paths, _especially_ when together," Finduireth replied, eyeing the swarm of women quickly making themselves over to where the three men stood. "Judging from the look of things, I think I will have to go rescue Faramir," she finished with mock concern, squeezing her friend's hand in goodbye.

"Rescue, eh?" Ireilas replied as she intently watched the rest of the women who apparently enjoyed being _very_ courteous to the three men. Of course Cairborn was all but ignoring them as usual, unlike his brother, who seemed to be having the time of his life, while Faramir treated them as he would any other with his usual courteous concern. "You may trust that innocent face and dulcet voice," Ireilas continued. "But I have lived long enough to know better; Faramir is more than capable of causing plenty of 'trouble' all by his lonesome, as you can well see," she retorted with knowing wink. " I highly doubt he needs rescue."

"'Oh, I did not say he was incapable of defending himself. But we've quite a bit to discuss. After that, he will be quite free to get back into whatever trouble he wishes. Hence the rescuing for the time being," Finduireth countered.

"Humph. It will be my husband that needs rescuing, especially when Faramir begins drawing his long, complicated conclusions between our time and another one of his beloved tales of lore," Ireilas said with feigned irritation. "There is a reason why books and manuscripts belong in libraries and not forever memorized in the heads of the ridiculously talkative!"

"Do not begrudge the wise their scholarly pursuits. You might actually learn something worth storing in that empty head of yours," she replied with a wink.

"This coming from a woman who still hasn't memorized the lines of the Kings, yes?"

"I know not of what you speak! Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"Fine," Ireilas replied, rolling her eyes with mock disdain.

"Very well," Finduireth replied with a chuckle. "We will continue this later. Until then?"

"Aye. And until then just try to remember that Eldacar comes _before_ Arantar."

* * *

For Faramir, it had been a long night, and he was want to slip away from the noise and chatter of the hall. While he was used to such celebrations as any steward-son of Gondor would be, having grown up with them all his life, he still found time alone or at least with a small group of actual friends preferable to the great number of faces that seemed to press into him from all sides. And while his father proved too busy with official duties that night to worry him, allowing Faramir some small bit of independence, he had yet to find time to break away from the crowd and seek out his brother and cousin. Usually, they would at least meet, if only for a little, huddled deep in conversation in some corner, chattering away as though world around them didn't exist. But tonight, his mind had been busy with other things, for they could little afford to let this victory slip through their hands. Not to mention the pressing matters that still hung on his mind and in his heart as a result of the conversation he had with Boromir earlier that week.

_Rivendell._

The word still haunted Faramir, ate away at his mind and heart as he thought of the long months ahead without his brother in the city. Soon, Boromir would leave, facing the treacherous road alone, leaving his people to seek out the secret counsel with the elves. It would not be the same with his beloved brother gone for such a long time, most likely leaving him to take charge of both the soldiers in the city as well his usual troop of Rangers. Soon, he would have no one with such depths of experience from which to seek advice, and one less person with whom he could freely discuss the growing military matters and affairs of state plaguing his homeland. He knew in his heart he was capable of leading the troops in a rather satisfactory fashion. But the coming absence of one of the two people he most trusted and found strength in gnawed at him in a way in that he knew would result in a constant heaviness of the mind and heart. Such was the case this night, for the gloomy prospects were all he could find himself focusing on, even in the middle of the hall. Not even the chatter of his father's advisors and the various congratulations from the numerous ladies seeking to praise his efforts of the last few weeks could distract him from his train of thought.

"Sir, you appear quite positively bored out of your mind," said the gravelly, if somewhat sarcastic voice at his left.

"By Eru, I'll take a gander you're right. I 'spect all this political talk has taken a bit out 'o him, don't you think?" a lighter, almost laughing voice replied to his right.

"I would bet on it. Frankly, looks as though the cap'n, s'well as myself, would rather be out in the field then among this chattering bunch."

"Though he does not seem to mind the chatterings of a pretty face."

"Aye, but who in their right mind would…well…mind? But still, the company in the field is better..."

"You lie, brother! Everyone 'round here knows you're only present for the food and the women!" the other one chuckled back.

"Like you're here for the drinking and merriments, you lay-about?" the former replied sardonically.

"You slander me!"

"You slander yourself just fine without any sort of assistance from me."

Thoughts swiftly reeling back to the present, Faramir found he couldn't help but smile at the all too true words and easily recognizable banter bouncing back and forth about him. Smoothly excusing himself from the conversations he carried on with the nobles, advisors and ladies surrounding him, he turned to face his detractors. His own smile broadened when he saw who addressed him with such frankness. He could always depend on these two to break the all-too-familiar cycle of melancholy currently invading his mind.

As always, Anborn seemed able to read his Captain like an open book. The same proved true with his elder brother, Cairborn. But that was the least to be expected considering both men had been Rangers of Ithilien in Faramir's service for over a decade. Cairborn, the same age as Faramir, with Anborn only a year younger, had proven the more obviously humorous of the two. However, Anborn was not without his own gifts, his usual and often sardonic observations bringing a smile to those around him. Such dark humor proved fitting considering his perilous occupation. Both men's love and admiration for their captain was evident, for they had served him well in the field. Anborn, ever observant and meticulous, proved an extraordinary tracker. Cairborn, a master of swordplay and other arms, had saved his fellow Rangers in many a tight spot. Jointly, their intelligent irreverence countered their captain's more passionate yet guarded character, resulting in their forming a deep friendship with Faramir.

Cairborn, tall and built broadly, with light brown hair and brown eyes, was the more handsome of the two. His looks were like those of his mother, who had come from Aldburg in Rohan. He had married young, to his sweetheart of many years, Ireilas. And Faramir was glad of it, having been on the receiving end of Ireilas' hospitality and excellent cooking, a welcome thing for the bachelor. Anborn, with his darker hair and matching green eyes, tall but a ways more lean, was quite popular with the ladies. Initially, one would never guess it if they were to judge only by his tough demeanor and sarcastic wit. But such qualities surprisingly enough made it so. He had never married, completely content to "ramble," as he called it. And he was never one to spurn the advances of any comely feminine grace, no matter its rank or station.

Clad in the brown and green uniform of the Ranger, Anborn cast a skeptical eye about the room, only taking note of the chatter and the well dressed women just beyond Faramir.

"Extraordinary, how they seem to talk of nothing of themselves," Anborn quipped, though he cast an appraising look at the dark-haired beauty who stood just beyond Faramir.

"And of themselves talking of themselves," Cairborn added.

"Is that _even_ possible?" Anborn countered.

"Judging by your bored expression, yes," Cairborn finished heartily, drinking the last bit of his wine. They were of relatively high noble blood, their father's people originally having come to Ithilien from Pelargir countless generations ago (though they left Ithilien and settled in Minas Tirith after the last Haradrim invasion). However, the brothers retained some of the rolling Rohirric accent of their mother. They also shared her general disregard for the nobility; she was a daughter of one of Thengel's marshals, her nobleman Gondorian husband having loved her without question or doubt. But she had always disliked what she viewed as the exceedingly haughty Gondorian aristocracy. In turn, the brothers were only too happy to continue that tradition, preferring to show their love for Gondor and its greatest city through their determined protection of it whilst in service their trusted captain. A lifetime commitment to feats on the field held far more appeal than the protocol of the court.

"We are quite cheeky tonight, no?" Faramir asked, lopsided smile on his face.

"I blame the wine," Anborn replied.

"I blame the food," Cairborn countered.

"I blame you both," Faramir added, chuckling and clapping them on the back as he led them towards the great table in the middle of room. It was laden high and food and drink and all helped themselves to further refreshment. Retreating, they found an empty place on the sidelines, talking amongst themselves of the events of the last few days.

Seeing Cairborn's increasingly rosy face and hearing his chatter steadily speed up to become more garbled, Faramir couldn't help it as an easy grin came to his face again.

"Are you drunk?" he asked the Cairborn innocently, though there was a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Aye, cap'n," Anborn replied flatly, though with a crooked grin. "He's bound to collapse in a few moments, I take it…or at least start singing some bawdy tavern song at the top of his lungs. What's your favorite? _Itches in Me Britches?_ Or _My Lady's Beauteous Belfalas Box?_"

"That…is foul! And I am not…erhm…not…uh…" Cairborn slurred.

"Drunk?" Anborn retorted.

"Yes…yes, that's…it!"

"You _are_ drunk then," Anborn replied matter-of-factly.

"Slander!"

"Fact."

"You mock me, sir?!"

"I state only truth. And the truth is, you sir, are _drunk_. Though with this crowd of prattling, proud folk," Anborn continued dryly, eyes scanning the room once again. "I don't blame you. In fact, cap'n, judging by the general sway of your cousin over yonder, I'd say she looks positively intoxicated as well."

Faramir's eyes went wide with bewilderment and couldn't help but laugh at Anborn's words as he looked to his cousin approaching them. Yes, she was swaying ever-so-slightly.

"Better not stand here laughin' at me, m'lord. She's right liable to stumble over her own feet rather soon," the Ranger continued, raising an incredulous eyebrow as Finduireth made her way through the crowd. She reached Anborn first, and the Ranger gave her a curt nod of welcome as she stopped in front of him.

"M'Lady. You look well," Anborn said evenly in greeting.

"Cairborn! It is a pleasure to see you!" Finduireth replied, giving a slight curtsy. "How is…your wife? Your children? It's a pity Ireilas could not make it, Cairborn, for I wished to see her," she continued, for Cairborn's wife was one of her oldest and closest friends.

"Ah, she is fine. In fact, they all are wonderful, wherever they may be," Anborn replied smoothly.

"Oh! 'Wherever they may be?"" she repeated surprised and slowly, trying to keep her words in the right order. "Have you…lost them?"

"No, M'Lady. It is quite difficult to loose something one does not posses," Anborn continued with a grin.

"How…erhm…could you lose…Ireilas, Cairborn?"

"Oh it is quite simple, Lady. One minute they are there, the next they are not. It is quite a neat trick that I hope to show you one day," he replied effortlessly, giving a quick wink to Faramir, who grinned in response, standing back and deciding to the let it run its course. By Eru, he found he could no longer keep count of how many times he had told her to curb her enthusiasm for…more potent refreshment.

"Well…that does sound quite…interesting. You will have to show me someday," Finduireth replied slowly, brow creasing in confusion.

"Aye, I look forward to it," Anborn replied, mouth twitching with beginnings of laughter. Quickly regaining his composure, he turned to Faramir and bowed. "We take our leave of you both" he said loudly, taking Cairborn by the arm. Cairborn, struggling to keep his hand steady as not to spill the fresh drink his hand, smiled brightly, swaying into his own bow, which Faramir and Finduireth returned. Looking to Cairborn, she said, "It was a pleasure to see you, Anborn."

"Yes," Cairborn replied, frowning in confusion as he tried to remember the name of the person who addressed him. "You as well…my…Lady," he smiled again. Lady. Yes, that had to be her name. Where in the name of Eru was his wife? He hoped she looked just as exquisite as she did when they'd arrived. As a result, it was a wonder she had been able to convince him to leave the comfort of their bedroom to attend the festivities. In fact, he could certainly think of thousands of other activities they could be undertaking at this very moment in that room. And knowing Ireilas, judging from how difficult a time he had trying to convince _her_ to leave as well, she would certainly be game for such undertakings.

Without further ado, the Rangers left the two, though not first without Cairborn smacking squarely into the edge of the column directly behind them. It seemed to have no effect on him though, which was not at all surprising given his circumstances.

After all, it was but a small price to pay for such a jovial occasion.

* * *

Well, that settled it. She was drunk.

But it didn't look as though she would do anything too terribly embarrassing. Well, not so embarrassing as attempt to address anyone by name again, hopefully. So essentially, Faramir was gladdened when Finduireth approached him. However, judging by the worry he immediately saw tugging at her heart, he knew her interruption would most likely not be the result of the greatest of circumstances. Curtsying to the group of advisors he found had gathered around them again upon Anborn and Cairborn's departure, she begged off his presence with a joke and grin in her usual understated way, leading him away from them.

"I need…to see you in the…back garden, by the Lebethron…tree. Both of us…need to see you!" she said surreptitiously. Or at least it would have been surreptitious, had she not addressed him so loudly. Suddenly another group his lieutenants appeared, eager to give their congratulations to their captain. They talked for a while, she, moving to the background and remaining relatively quiet, save for an occasional bit of laughter at a quip or murmur of agreement to a proposed question. Laughing politely at one of his lieutenant's jokes again, taking two wine glasses off the tray of a passing servant, she handed another glass to him, beginning her own drink. Taking another gulp of it and setting the empty cup back on another passing tray within two sips, she picked up another full glass.

As the group drifted away and Faramir took his leave of them, he turned to look at her, eyes narrowing and lopsided grin coming to his face as she drank the glass she'd just picked up from another passing tray.

"And how many of those have you had, cousin?" he asked. Seeing her face flushed and eyes shining, though she was not smiling, he already knew the answer to her question.

"Not…nearly enough considering…"

"You haven't finished the new one in your hand?"

"Yes," she replied after a bit, looking at him hard. "And I'm not…drunk…"

"Not yet, but you won't be able to walk straight in about a half-hour," he teased.

"It doesn't matter much…anyway. No…one's paying attention."

"I am. And I'm sure Boromir is…"

"No. No he's not. He's over there…having a toast…with his soldiers," she replied quickly, turning almost a little too much and pointing out a smiling Boromir doing just that. Turning back around to face him, she over-spun again, her actions barely noticeable to any but him. Well, except for Anborn, whose years of experience simply would not allow anything to escape his astute notice. But what more could a captain ask of the best tracker of his company?

"I'm not going to tell you to stop…" Faramir continued.

"Then don't," she said petulantly, albeit a little slowly. "But with all haste," she continued in a determined voice, "We need to talk to you…By the, uh…"

"Lebethron tree, I know. Allow me a half-hour."

"Don't know if I…can. You…said I won't be able…to walk straight…by then," she teased, smile suddenly coming to her face. Suddenly she frowned again, leaning against the column and taking a few deep breaths. "Really, we…all need to talk...without delay," she finished.

"Okay, Fin. I'll be there within a half-hour."

"Thank you."

"Don't. Say. It."

"Fine, fine," he said with a grin, raising his hands in surrender. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed something.

"Look, there's Raeliar! Think you may be able keep up a conversation with him for the next half-hour?" he asked. Spinning around, she saw their dear friend making his way through the crowd. When she turned back to Faramir, she had a genuine smile on her face.

"I am drunk…not stupid," she said with a snort.

"I thought you said you _weren't _drunk?" he said with a smirk.

"You knew…I was lying!" she smirked back.

"I did," he replied.

"But as it stands: was…I really lying if I knew that…that you knew I wasn't lying?" she continued, raising her eyebrow in question. "After…all, you…clear sight…we both can…and my knowing that…you can, means that I know…you would know…the truth…"

"That I would," he agreed.

"And now…I sound…daft," she said with a frown.

"Well, us Dúnedain are a complicated group," Faramir joked with a smile.

"Not…as complicated as these…times, I…fear," she replied, face falling further.

"Come, this is not a night to worry about that," he replied quietly, taking her by the shoulders. "We celebrate tonight," he continued with a quiet smile. She grinned at his response and then looked over her shoulder at Raeliar.

"I should be able to…keep up a…conversation. Especially…" she turned around to look at Raelier again, facing Faramir after a while "He looks as though he's indulged a bit himself. I shall be fine," she finished, squaring her shoulders with determination.

"Good," Faramir said, eyes twinkling.

"Good," she repeated as Faramir deftly maneuvered the glass out of her hand, replacing it with a glass of ice-water from the nearby table. Guiding her where Ralier stood, he tapped his friend on the shoulder, causing him to turn around.

"My…Lord Faramir…what brings you here?" the man said, bowing low.

"Finduireth was just telling me how nice it is to see a familiar face in the crowd," Faramir replied smoothly.

"Well, I am…glad, my lady…thinks it so?" Raelier replied slowly, as to not stumble over his words, giving her a wink.

"Thank you," she replied steadily.

"The pleasure is…all mine," Raelier replied. "May I?" he asked, offering his arm. "I have not…had a chance…to speak with you at all this night, M'Lady."

"You may," she replied, linking an arm with his, a smile coming to her face that made Faramir silently sigh with relief.

"Take care, cousin," he said, handing her off. "I'm trusting you," he told Raelier in a tone of seriousness, his smile betraying his good humor.

"I will look after…Gondor's finest," Raelier replied with genuine concern.

"As will I," she replied, curtsying to her cousin. "Thank you Faramir, and we take our leave of you."

"As you wish," he replied, bowing slightly. Watching them go, he turned to seek out Boromir, only to be accosted by the advisors from before. It looked like it would truly take him a half-hour this time to maneuver his way out of Merethrond.


	8. Meetings in the Dark

**A/N:** Much thanks to my wonderful and talented new beta, **Esther Greenwood**, my savior from run-on sentences, a lack of noun/verb/tense agreement, randomly missing words and a host of other things that make the grammar and fanfic gods cry. Without her, this would be one big OMG!!11WTFBBQGonDOrIsSOoooCooL!!!!1111 mess. Seriously, thanks Esther. Also, thanks to **DaisyBrownlockOfOverhill**, **Raksha**, **anna**, and **Rosie26** and for their reviews. It helps to know that some folks are reading and that this isn't some long diagnosis of my own madness (at least I hope it's not!). And now, on with the tale.

* * *

The sky was dark, looming over the quiet of the city. To the East it lay, inky black and heavy with prospect of coming rain. The veiled stars did little to interrupt the night. And though they sparkled brighter in the West, heaviness still lingered. With the wind blowing across the plain of the Pelennor, bringing with it the ripe scent of flowers, the night remained chilly despite the May month. But none of that mattered - suddenly he heard their voices, singing their songs of praise and sorrow as they had done since their awakening on the dark shores of Cuiviénen.

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel,  
silivren penna míriel  
o menel aglar elenath!  
Na-chaered palan-díriel  
o galadhremmin ennorath,  
Fanuilos, le linnathon  
nef aear, sí nef aearon!_

_A__ Elbereth Gilthoniel!  
o menel palan-díriel  
le nallon sí di'nguruthos!  
A tiro nin, Fanuilos!_

Hanging on the air, soft and silvery as the dusk, their notes lingered. Voices of silver and light wrapping around him as though the forgotten memory of some distant dream of old. Their melodic tones tugged at the very pieces of his heart, their words of longing pulling at his mind.

_There they waited in the early night for the first signs of the familiar flicker of the torches down on the dark road below them. The glittering orange and yellow lights would signal the return of the steward-son's company. And at their head would ride her beloved husband, his beloved father. He promised he would be back in time for Yestarë, which would be tomorrow. Hence, tonight would prove their last chance to wait for him from their vantage point high on the ramparts, right below the leaves of the newly replanted Lebethron_ _tree. If he did not arrive tonight and settle his duties now, they wouldn't get the chance to spend tomorrow uninterrupted with him. _

_The young dark-haired boy fidgeted, nervously shifting his weight back and forth between his feet, fiddling with the silken ties of his black cloak, swatting at the flies that floated lazily around them in the brisk December night. He loved being the first to see his father arrive. As always, he would wave and yell, shaking the staff of the banner fixed into the turret of the wall, purposely making it to flap wildly in the wind to catch his father's attention. Of course this would prompt him to look up and give them his usual brisk wave and quiet smile as he rode into the city, his soldiers behind them tipping their helms in greeting as well. But the boy hated the waiting part of it. Sometimes it would take hours for them to hear sound of the horses' hooves clomping up the stone road. Once, they even had to wait for the sun to start its ascent over the horizon before they saw or heard ay sign of the company's return. And by then he had almost been too tired start his usual noises of welcome._

_However, all of that was forgotten as he heard it – faint singing voices on the wind, their sounds like the silver bells of the Tower chiming their muted tones in the wee hours of the morning. Calling out to him but softer, yet oddly not lacking in strength, their melodies affected him greatly; his stomach tied itself in little knots as his heart swelled with unease and sudden sadness, as though something he had lost long ago would never be found again. Yet beneath it, lay joy, even elation, like the way he felt whenever he saw his father coming up the path to city after time away. It was as though they said "Fear not young child of Ilúvatar, for despite your sadness and grief, all will be right with the world, hope renewed and everlasting." But still, he instinctively reached out and grabbed the hand of the tall woman standing beside him. _

_"So you too have heard the voices of the Elves, little one?" she asked, her strong, melodic voice washing over him. "They are leaving, you know," she said, "Departing Middle Earth forever for their havens in the Uttermost West, taking __Straight Road__ open to them alone."_

_Strange…was that sadness in her voice? He looked up at her, his clear grey eyes staring confusedly at silhouette of her familiar face outlined the faint light of the torches lining the wall. _

_"It has been said the songs of the Eldar possess a dark magic, my little warrior," she continued as she looked down at him, bright blue eyes shining in the moonlight as the ancient notes of exodus still lingered on the wind. Though her words puzzled him, he loved the way she said them, the whisper of her voice quiet but strong. As though if she spoke any louder, the spell would be broken. Her black tresses blowing about her as she stood there on the stone ramparts, he watched contently as she let go of his hand to easily shift the weight of the sleeping infant in her arms. He reached up then, purposely tangling his small hands in the folds of her great blue mantle, finding comfort in the feel of the soft heavy velvet. Feeling him do so, she balanced the infant in one arm, using the other to pull him close to her again. _

_"Their very words leave nothing untouched," she murmured in that extraordinary voice of hers he could never tire of hearing. "None can resist such enchantments."_

_His mind could not comprehend how words could equal magic._

_"They ensnare forever the hearts of any fortunate enough to happen upon them," she continued, as though able to read his very thoughts. "And then, there is no escape."_

_Shivering as the result of something else besides the cool winds that whipped around him, his thoughts reeled through his head as he contemplated the idea of being eternally trapped by mere words. _

_"Oh, but do not fear, my little jewel," she said, voice resolute, the usual fierce smile coming to her face_. _His heart and mind immediately relaxed; whenever she took that tone of unwavering courage or gave anyone that look of unmitigated determination, he knew nothing in the world could hurt any of them. They would all remain safe, from the child in her arms to the man currently traveling on that dark and lonely road leading back them._

_"No heart would wish to escape the delights of the elves," she continued with a quiet laugh, allowing him to nestle further into the warmth of her cloak as she again shifted the weight of the baby in her arms. "They are wise beyond any of us. Their joys and sorrows lay so far past the emotions of men that it cannot be fathomed. That is why their songs are so powerful; their words are wrought with the very spirit of Ilúvatar, he who is lord of us all, the beginning and end of all circles of the world. So do not fear, my son, for you have now had the special honor of hearing them. Cherish and hold it close to your heart evermore." _

_He leaned into her completely now, his heart newly happy as the strains of their songs faded into the air. He had partaken of an honor. They all had, even the sleeping baby who probably didn't even know it because he was asleep, as per usual. Even his father probably heard it too. How could he not? He was the most special person he knew. Well, besides the baby. And his mother. Which meant they were all special. And that could never be taken away._

_ Silence fell again, broken on only by her steady breathing and the murmurings of the babe in her arms. Even his previous bout of jitteriness had been cured._

_The rest of night continued as it should; just after midnight the company returned, his father at its head, giving his quick wave and quiet smile to the figures high overhead, the smaller of which shook the banner staff with such ferocity that it almost caused the standard to fly off completely, much to the amusement of his mother. Within the hour, he'd listened to his father briefly tell of the adventures of the road, watched his mother tuck the baby into its bassinette and made his way into his own bed, finally falling asleep and looking forward to the next day's celebrations. _

_Eventually it would all blend into the faint memories of the past. _

_But he would never forget the songs of the Eldar that came to him on the wind. _

It would be the last time his father would ride to battle. The next year, Ecthelion would pass beyond the circles of the world. His son would become steward, his duties no longer allowing him to ride out with his men. He himself would grow from a boy to a soldier, older and more occupied. As man of more pragmatic means, he would rarely have time for such flights of fancy ever again. But now, as he felt his heart grow heavy with melancholy for the lost days of Arda's youth, the elves' ancient songs blending with the whispers of the wind, he found he could no longer doubt such tales.

* * *

They found him there beneath the dark leaves of the old Lebethron tree, leaning on the ramparts in a rare moment of quiet. His clear grey eyes looking to the heavens at what stars he could make out, his thoughts drifted to the coming times and inevitable changes they would bring. He almost didn't hear them approach.

"'Tis a beautiful thing, the sky, though it is a shame for it to be so dark…" a voice called out, adding a bit of comfort to his thoughts.

"A dark sky to match to these dark times, little brother," Boromir replied, quickly breaking out of his reverie as he turned to face them. His eyes were bright despite the darkness, though whether with tears or not, they did not know. "I am glad you have both come," he continued, voice steadying as his thoughts moved back to the present.

"As are we," Finduireth replied slowly. Unlinking her arm from Faramir's, she moved towards the stone bench, sitting herself down under the deep green petals of the low-hanging branch of the tree. Next to her Faramir sat, shifting positions to get more comfortable as she leaned her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. Boromir, seeing this and recognizing the signs, could not help but point out the obvious.

"Too much to drin…"

"Don't you say it either," she said, eyes still closed.

"Fine, I shall not," Boromir countered, unable to help the slight smile coming to his face as his brother nodded his head in silent agreement, making comical drinking motions with his hands. Suddenly Faramir cleared his throat, remembering they had more important things to discuss than the varying degrees of their cousin's inebriation.

"Finduireth told me it was necessary that we meet? I think she has something to tell you," Faramir said.

"Oh?" Boromir replied, intrigued, eyebrow raised in question.

"Yes, Finduireth replied, eyes snapping opening as she remembered.

"Oh it's quite important," Faramir said, giving her a mischievous look. "It concerns matters of _love_."

"You know, you are lucky you do not wear your breast plate, Faramir. Other wise I would have an excuse to hit you without fear of injuring you," she countered, trying to sound serious but failing.

"You had better take heed. She can be lethal at times," Boromir replied with a sly wink at his brother.

"If you don't stop, I'll hurt you both!" she replied, trying to contain a laugh.

"Fine, fine," Boromir replied with a smile, putting up his hands in surrender. "What is it you wished to discuss?"

Getting up and making her way over to stand next to Boromir on the ramparts, she leaned against the stone wall, nervously playing with her hands.

"Well…Raeliar…" she began quietly.

"Yes?"

"We have been…courting, as you know," she said, looking to Faramir, frowning at him as he silently shook with laughter. "You are not making this any better!" she said loudly.

"I apologize!" he said wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "It is just that you worry too much, as usual making things overly complicated. He will not kill him…"

"Of course he won't…" she said.

"Kill who? Why would I wish to kill Raeliar?" Boromir asked in confusion, not understanding what was passing between the other two.

"She is getting…"

"Don't you say it!" she implored of Faramir, pointing accusingly at him. "I can tell him very well myself!"

"You're taking so long to say it…"

"Fine, fine. I will say it. Just…stop laughing!"

"You're priceless," Faramir said, still laughing.

"You're making this difficult!" she countered.

"What about Raeliar?" Boromir asked again.

"Well, I'm courting him. As I have been for the last two or so years…"

"Of course. I could wish for no one better," Boromir replied.

"Good," she replied cutting him off but stopping, trying to find the right words.

"For the love of Eru, Fin. If you do not tell him, I will!" Faramir said with a laugh after a long moment of her silence.

"You would not!" she countered.

"I would!"

"Would not!"

"I would!"

"Would _not!_"

"Boromir, Finduireth and Raeliar are…"

"Engaged! We. Are. Engaged!" she finished the sentence, cutting him off.

Boromir was quiet for a moment, his silence lasting what seemed an eternity to her. Then, a smile suddenly came to his face.

"Well, I guess I shall have to kill him now," he steadily said.

"You are cruel!" she retorted.

"You are my cousin, as though a sister to me," he countered. "Hence, I cannot simply let my best friend sweep in and take you," he continued, a reassuring smile coming to his face. "So this is what I resolve to do; first thing in the morning, I will beat the stuffing out of him so that I may to distinguish his _real_ worth. Considering I have so little of my usual duties to attend to, it should prove no hindrance. And, just so we are honest with each other, I must inform you right now that I _very much_ look forward to carrying this all out," he finished, smile broadening. Completely mortified, she fixed him with a steely glare, not wholly unlike his own, only causing him to smile even more. Finally, with a sigh, he held out his arms to her.

"You are _so _daft, Finduireth," he said with a hearty laugh. "Of course I approve," he continued, taking her into his embrace. "I could not wish for a better match," he finished with a smile as she let him go. "And," he said, kissing her on the forehead, voice becoming serious again, "I know he will treat you with all the love and regard in the world."

"Thank you," she murmured.

"I still think he will kill him," Faramir chimed in with a laugh.

"Just as I will kill you?" Finduireth replied as Boromir let go of her and she made her way back to the bench, sitting back to her original position.

"Of course," Faramir retorted mockingly, wrapping an arm around her as she leaned against him again.

"You two really must put an end to this," Boromir chided them both, smile on his face.

"Ah, we never will," Faramir replied with a smile. "However," he continued voice becoming serious, "there are other things to discuss."

"Yes, yes there are," Boromir replied quietly, turning to face them completely, leaning back on the ramparts and resting his weight on his hands on either side of him. "I told her of everything that's come to pass. I depart in just over three week's time."

"So soon?" she almost choked.

"It takes almost more than two months' time to reach Rivendell under the best of circumstances," Faramir murmured. "Especially if one wishes to…go unnoticed."

"That is another point," she began. "These secrets: Halflings, broken swords, Morgul-spells, Isildur's Bane. Forgive me, for my lessons are quite old, but in all of this, you are simply traveling to a council of the Elves…"

"Isildur's Bane, cousin," Faramir replied patiently, standing and making his way over to his brother. "This is no simple council. All the races of good will be there. The weapon of the enemy…"

Suddenly it dawned on her, the lessons of her youth suddenly flooding back to memory.

"It cannot be!" she gasped, jumping to her feet. She quickly counted on her fingers, pacing nervously back and forth. "_Three thousand years!_ How did such a thing come to be?! What will be done?! How with this affect our wrestling with the enemy?! So many to claim it! Why…?!"

"Calm yourself!" Boromir chided, striding up and taking her by the wrists, causing her to stop pacing. "So nervous!" he reproached. "You worry too much over things you cannot control! Why do you think I am going? All questions will be answered in due time," he finished quietly, a slight grin coming to his face to reassure her.

"I just cannot comprehend," she replied voice calm in an effort to control her worry.

"It has proven to be quite perturbing," Faramir replied, sadness creeping into his voice. "All we know is that the thing has been found…"

"And it must be decided who will wield it," Boromir added.

"Thus it is so important that the Elves have chosen to include us lesser men," Faramir finished.

"Lesser men?" Boromir questioned, addressing his brother, his voice rising. "'Lesser Men' have been guarding these borders for thousands of years! We are no less than those of the Valar. Our lives are just as important, as are our deaths!" he continued, beginning to pace back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. "Yes, our deaths may happen more often, come more soon. Time may spin a shorter lifeline for the children of Númenor. But none of that detracts from the sacrifices men have made to keep the Enemy at bay. The world is changing; no longer will men be allowed to linger in the shadows. We must assume responsibility, rise to occasion, come and take whatever hand fortune has seen fit to deal us." Suddenly stopping, he turned to face them both, voice becoming quiet. "The elves see this and can no longer question whether men, or even other races will take part in shaping the world. It is why they are calling all to council. Dwarves, elves, wizards. _Men_."

"No one questions the value of men," Faramir quickly said, soothing his brother's rising blood. "But I do question their hearts."

"The strength of men exists without question, brother," Boromir quickly countered, turning to face Faramir. "We have witnessed it always, even now in this past week. I refuse to let out people fail. You refuse to. We all do."

"Of course," Faramir replied. "I only question anything that endangers you."

"As do I," Finduireth added.

"Do not fear. If I go with only half the goodwill you send me with, all shall be well," Boromir replied.

"Were did you not go at all," she said sadly, drawing Boromir to her in an embrace. "Forgive me, for I am selfish in that way," she quickly added realizing her words and stepping away.

"Then we must both be selfish," Faramir said, clasping Boromir by the shoulder. "I know you do not leave until three week's time, but I wish you luck. May the Valar smile on you and Elbereth guide you through such peril," he finished, hugging his brother.

"And they, you," Boromir replied, clapping Faramir on the back.

"Well, I am glad to see that you have accepted such things!" a firm voice called out, startling them all. Silhouetted against the light of Merethrond, Denethor approached his children and niece.

He wore one of his official robes, dark blue and trimmed in black fur about the neck and sleeves. With the silver emblem of Gondor embroidered on the front, it lay over the usual mail shirt he had taken to wearing years ago. Under that lay a dark blue long-tunic trimmed in silver. With the slim silver circlet on his brow, decorated with the small silver flowers of Gondor about it, the grey-haired Steward cut an honorable figure, the epitome of the pride and respect he paid to Gondor's throne as its steward. His usually stern countenance was made significantly more welcome by the smile upon his face. Eyes sparkling with exhilaration, he took in the picture of his children and niece, all together for once. They were the very portrait of honor and nobility, an excellent reflection of the generations of old, of the ancient kings who came over the sea so long ago. And while the throne of Gondor had been vacated by the true heir for some thousand years, the region slowly slipping into age, none of that mattered this night to the Steward. Victory had been theirs, shared amongst all. It was for their future, the future of his children, his niece and his people, he was glad some light had crept back into their lives to hold the Shadow at bay, if only for a little while. For what more could a father want for his kin then the bright promise of a tremendous future secured, of an outlook devoid of death and destruction and darkness?

As his keen mind wondered on these things, Denethor approached them.

"I see that my eldest has seen fit to share the latest news with you both," Denethor began, clapping Boromir on the back as he gave his father the usual cursory bow, the other two following suit. "Well, I assume it is better than leaving you two in the dark," Denethor continued with a satisfied grin. "Though, of course the reason for his departure is to remain between us only," he finished, voice suddenly becoming serious as his gaze quickly turned to them in his usual scrutiny.

"It is the least to be expected, father," Faramir replied as Finduireth silently nodded in agreement.

"Of course it is," the steward countered. Used to the Denethor's usual reproachful tone, Faramir simply shrugged it off with his customary unapologetic grace and ease.

"We shall miss him, of course," Finduireth added carefully in the lull of the conversation. "All of Minas Tirith will I surmise, for there are few others so well loved and capable of such fidelity…"

"There are no others," Denethor countered matter-of-factly. "We shall suffer a great loss without you, steward-son," he continued, looking to Boromir. "And filling your boots shall be an empty task indeed. But is all for the best. A little lost shall eventually equal much gained."

"Well, my absence should not create too much a loss," Boromir replied. "Faramir will make a fine Captain of the Guard…"

"Assuming the steward wishes it that way," Faramir quickly added.

"Of course he should," Boromir replied. "There is no one else even close to fit for replacing me besides you."

"One could easily argue otherwise," Faramir replied.

"Well they _could_," Boromir laughed. "Assuming they were mad of course…"

"My responsibilities have always been in the outer regions," Faramir replied resolutely. "Besides, it has been a while since I have trained with the City Guard."

"You'll adapt quickly, as you do with everything else," Boromir replied, voice becoming just as resolute as Faramir.

"Aye, but it is still required I train with your lieutenants before bearing the full responsibilities of Captain-General," Faramir replied, raising a questioning eyebrow at Boromir who simply shrugged back in response. Finduireth looked back and forth between them, confusion on her face at the underlying meanings beneath the words being exchanged between them. After a while, she simply shrugged her shoulders in defeat; she knew that often enough it was though that they spoke a secret language known only between brothers, especially when their words were laced with such nuances.

"You, son, are better fit remaining Captain of the Rangers," Denethor said. "But," he continued with a displeased sigh, "As we discussed earlier, you will take on the duties of your brother. That is final."

"It shall be done," Faramir replied steadily, giving his father a cursory but slight bow.

"Undoubtedly it shall be," the Steward quickly countered. "May you do this better than you currently attend to your present duties if Gondor is to survive."

"You have little to doubt of Faramir's capabilities," Boromir quickly retorted. "No other man could even begin to hope of achieving any higher level of accomplishment as he has already. The people know it, and most importantly, _I_ know it. The coming days will only further prove your worth, brother," he finished, clapping Faramir on the back. "All will see it done."

"I could ask for no more of _you_," Faramir replied, a grin quickly coming to his face as he returned his brother's gesture.

"Evidently some still have faith in such a thing." Denethor sniffed. "But enough of this idle chatter," he continued with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Merethrond calls and you should not disappoint her."

"And we will not disappoint," Faramir replied. "I take my leave of you, father," he said with a formal nod.

"As do we," Boromir said with a bow, speaking for Finduireth, who bowed and followed suit.

"Naturally," the Steward replied with a nod. "In the meantime, enjoy the freedom of this night. It may prove long time before you have a chance to enjoy such liberties again."

* * *

"Walk with me, Finduireth," Denethor commanded, offering her his arm. Caught in mid-step, she turned back to him and automatically obliged. Linking her own arm with his, they began the walk back to the hall, silence settling between them. Passing the Great Hall where the festivities were still in underway without any sign of stopping, Finduireth moved to enter Merethrond, causing Denethor to frown at her.

"Surely, you would want to continue? It is a rarity that we have such a chance to celebrate..."

"They can manage on their own," Denethor hastily replied. This victory belonged to the people. And besides, he already had far too many other duties to undertake. There would be no more time to dwell on the victory; Eru only knew how long it would be until the forces of Mordor struck again.

Looking to the soft glow of the candlelight reflecting off the walls and hearing the increasing sounds of laughter and merriment, he thought back to his younger days. It was as though it were a lifetime ago since he'd been a Captain of Guard. So long since he was able to fall in with the others who unapologetically took upon the various duties of the Tower. The days before he took on the Stewardship were but a distant memory now. Living life for the moment, needing only to care for what the next few weeks or months would bring, enjoying the fellowship of the men whom he loved and respected and who came to honor and depend on him; such things now lay only in the past actions of distant youth. Now, he bore the job of the steward. It was a duty requiring strength, leaving no room for folly. The dark times that cast a shadow even now onto this jovial event made it so. Such was the hand dealt him by the turn of Fate's unremitting wheel. And for Denethor, the duty had been made especially lonely far too early. Moreover, the benefits and protection of the people far outweighed such a personal loss. So, at least in the open while among his people, he cast such personal frivolities aside, focusing his energy on ensuring the survival of that which mattered the most. None of it would do anything to bring her back. But the least he could hope was that she smiled upon him from the peaceful place her spirit now lingered.

"They shall miss you," he heard her repeat for a third time as she nodded towards Merethrond, trying to maneuver him back into the hall. Quickly bringing his thoughts back to the present, he quickly shook his head in disagreement as he steered her pass the massive doors of the entranceway.

"There will be other times for such things," he replied in response to what he knew must be the stoic on her face she would use to conceal her disappointment. "Besides," he continued, "There are other important matters to deal with," he said, his tone decisive.

"And of what matters do you speak?" she replied, not looking at him, her best voice of disinterest in place even as she steeled herself for the rest of his words. She had been dreading this conversation the entire night. And they both knew her efforts to hide her knowledge of what he spoke of were in vain. So Denethor continued without bothering to comment on her feigned ignorance. He had never been a man with a high tolerance for idle chatter.

"Your seeming inability to control your temper earlier this week is one of them." he finished in his usual even fashion, though she could clearly discern the undertones of reprimand in his voice. Hearing his cloak rustle as he turned to speak to her, she could not help it as she burned with embarrassment, her face blushing it tell-tale splotchy red.

"Such a temper has never served anyone any beneficial purpose," he continued upon hearing no response from her. "You would do well to remember yourself in the future," he admonished, causing her to sigh in disgrace. "Not wholly unlike your grandmother," he added with less reprimand in his voice as he turned to look at her. Often enough he still found himself surprised at how similar they appeared. "Immenor, my sister, contained a temper like the fires of Mordor, in the image of Ecthelion. 'Twas no wonder they rarely saw eye to eye," he said, as though recalling some almost forgotten memory. Continuing past the entrance to the noisy festivities, they walked along the edge of the citadel, eventually set to pass up the hall. "I wish not for such a thing to happen between us," he went on. "Mind yourself and your cross disposition, and we will not find ourselves at odds."

"It will be done," she replied simply.

"Certainly it will," he said as they made their way into the citadel. Walking down the twisting stone hallways, they reached his quarters, Denethor, using his key to open the heavy oak door.

"So," she began, looking at him this time as she spoke and they made their way into the richly decorated dining room. "With Boromir's departure occurring so soon, there is much to be done…"

"Hope is not abandoned. Gondor needs it in these ever-darkening days. You of all people should know that," he said quickly. "All will be forced to take on additional duties to fill the void left by my eldest. Hopefully, his time away will not stretch out for any terrible length."

"And of Faramir?"

"He will have the most to live up to as a result."

"I see. ou doubt his skills?"

"He is…a reflection of myself, containing too many of the same flaws that easily lead to mistakes I wish not to see committed again," he countered, cutting her off. "No father wishes for his child to repeat the sins of the past. For what good is history if we do not learn from it?" Seeing doubt reflected clearly in her heart despite her cool demeanor, he shook his head in incredulity as he unlinked his arm with hers. "It is to be expected," he said, a faintly exasperated expression coming to his face as he thought on the fact that she questioned him. "And you are simply too young to understand. You will comprehend when you have children of your own," he finished, moving to his dressing room.

"I do not nor have I ever doubted you or your words," she replied steadily as she followed him into the sparsely decorated but richly dark wood-paneled chamber. The room glowed luminous with the light of newly lit lanterns the servants had prepared in their usual anticipation for their lord's wishes. "Why should I do such a thing?" she retorted.

"Because you are young. And it is simply the cycle of life for the younger generation to doubt the words of their elders," he replied knowingly. "But you shall learn. Every person must or they fall into wanton folly. And no kin of mine will take the latter road."

"You doubt my abilities, uncle?" she skeptically asked as she took a seat in the corner.

"No. But your line of questioning speaks volumes on your lack of experience in such matters," Denethor sternly replied, unlacing the front ties of his robe and shrugging out of it to reveal the chain-mail shirt he wore over the heavy long-tunic beneath. "Odd how he has taken to wearing mail constantly now," she thought, remembering that Boromir was the first to notice it years ago.

"Besides," he continued, tossing the robe on the back of the chair and walking out of the room, motioning for her to follow him. "I would not expect you to know of such things. You are too busy dealing with the more tangible things this world offers." He made his way to the study, quickly sitting down at the small, circular, black-topped table. In the middle of it sat a simple silver plate next to which rested a table-knife and a small woven basket containing a modestly sized loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese and a medium-sized vine of grapes. The steward's usual snack before retiring to bed. Seeing that she still stood, he immediately nodded for her to take a seat across from him. Doing as she was bidden, she sat as he prepared a quick meal of the items in the basket.

"May I offer you some refreshment?" he asked as flicked open a napkin, placing it across his lap and moving the basket across the table to her. "There is no extra plate, as I was not expecting company. I will send for one…"

"No, no. 'Tis no matter. The basket is fine," she replied, eagerly tearing off a bit of bread.

"I see you enjoyed celebration?" he asked, recognizing the signs of her impatient hunger as she tore off another piece of bread.

"Aye," she replied simply, continuing to eat. He could easily sense her nervousness while at the gathering earlier that night, even from a distance, rightly knowing she had not eaten much as a result. Hence, their quiet meal here.

After a while she couldn't help but smile, which Denethor quickly noticed.

"And what does milady find so amusing?" he asked evenly, the merest hints of a grin coming to his face.

"'Tis nothing…" she replied.

"You lie. Speak what's on your mind," he quietly commanded. Of course there was no use of her shielding her thoughts from him, especially when she wasn't focused on doing such a thing at the moment. It would take too much concentration anyway, especially now that she was preoccupied.

"Really, it is not important," she said. Seeing from the look on his face that he did not believe her she quickly rethought her words.

"Well…it has just occurred to me," she added quickly, deciding she might as well speak plainly. "You eat _very_ neatly, 'tis all."

"Why would I not?" he asked, somewhat confused at her odd comment. "What, do some think I eat in a slovenly fashion?" he questioned, eyebrow arching in disbelief.

"No, no!" she said quickly.

"Then why point out such a thing?"

"It came to my notice, that is all. Just…erhm…pointing out fact."

"Well…" he replied, voice trailing off. "How else would one eat?" he added. "I was trained, after all, as any decent person would be. Why on earth would I take my meal any other way?" he continued, still confused at her odd comments.

"I honestly do not know…"

"What, do they expect me to loudly crack chicken bones, hurl grapes, and slurp on cherry tomatoes?"

"No, not at all. It makes little sense to me either," she shrugged, biting into a fresh piece of cheese.

"Well then, that is settled," he replied decisively.

"Yes. You are an exceptionally neat eater."

"As should be expected," he replied. Looking up at her and taking note of the odd expression on her face, he shook his head. "Such an odd one sometimes," he murmured.

"I try my best," she countered in mock offense, causing the corners of his mouth to twitch as he quickly suppressed a smile.

"Again, you need to take heed of your temper," he pointed out, voice quickly becoming serious. His words were simple and one could never accuse Denethor of lacking subtlety. But that was how they all preferred it, having been reared around it all their lives. Some, lacking any sense of insight, would foolishly call it cold, detached, and even without love. But they all knew better. Denethor, like the rest of his kin, felt deeply, more deeply than many ever had the privilege to witness. And, like the rest of his kin, he chose to control it in his own way, showing such affection as he best saw fit.

"I am sorry," she replied, the seriousness in her voice matching his.

"Of course," he replied. They continued eating in silence, Finduireth glancing at him every so often, studying his face. Boromir and Faramir had been right and she should've noticed it earlier.

"Uncle, you worry far more than one should," she said suddenly with a frown, reaching across the table and placing her hand on his.

"And you worry too little," he replied, giving her hand a slight but kind squeeze. "Besides," he said with a sigh, taking her hand in both of his "You have too many other responsibilities to be concerned with before you could even attempt to bear the same burdens as I. Be troubled not with musings of an old man, for they are too great for you to even begin to fathom."

"There are others far more talented who would lend help without expecting anything in return, if only one were to ask," she began lightly, as to not offend.

"My sons also have their own responsibilities," he quickly replied. "Both of them contain their own gifts. The stewardship is in _my_ hands. And as an extension of that, so are the lives and fortunes of the people. Moreover, it is not a question of talent, assistance or the will of the people to lend such things, for they have gone far above the call of ordinary duties, as has been the case for generations since the Shadow has darkened. No, Minas Tirith and even Gondor itself dwindles from a simple lack of resources. Such is the result of the various misfortunes that have plagued each generation." As he finished these words, Denethor stood up from the table and began pacing the room, lost in his thoughts that were now making themselves known. Her frown became deeper as she thought on the full meaning of what he revealed. It was not that she didn't know the history of her own country (as any Gondorian would). It was more the fact that the words were being said aloud, giving the reality of it more severity.

"Long have been the days since any have seen the true heights of glory this country can achieve. But we have little time for dreaming of such things, niece, for the Shadow from the East grows ever-long. And my first priority, my _foremost duty_, is to keep it at bay."

"And what of the duties of my cousins?" she questioned. "For do they not share such great responsibilities?"

"A parent's greatest wish," Denethor said, coming to a stop, his hands clasped behind his back though his eyes shone with emotion, "is for their child to exceed where they did not, to tread right where they stumbled in folly, to ascend to heights inaccessible to themselves. Boromir has done so whereas Faramir...has not. My only wish is for my younger son to reach such heights. There can be nothing more frustrating than witnesses another squander such inherent potential."

"And how he squandered such potential?" she asked, her voice even.

"You expect such questions to have simple answers?" he replied with a mirthless laugh. She did not answer him, nor signal whether or not she agreed, choosing instead to go with her initial instincts and remain silent.

"No, not even you have an answer for that, apparently," he cynically said as he took his seat at the table again. "But then again, why would even bother to ask such a question if you had the answer? Do I imagine my own son completely lacking of some small bit of talent? Nay. But he has much, far too much learn if he is ever to effectively lead, that is to put it simply as you wish it to be. And those are my final words on the subject."

"It is understood then, uncle," she replied steadily.

"I hope it is," he countered. "Now," he began, voice becoming less agitated, "I hear you have finally made your choice as far as husbands go, yes?"

"Yes," she replied simply She wasn't surprised that he knew. Nothing, no matter how trivial or seemingly irrelevant, ever escaped his notice.

"Well then, this _Raeliar_ seems to have the high opinion of those who know him best from what I have heard."

"Yes, yes he does. He has known both Boromir and Faramir for most all of their lives, as you know. And they have trusted him with their lives as well…"

"Yet he chooses to become a Ranger rather than advancing through the ranks of Boromir's company?"

"His family was originally of Ithilien, leaving to join Eldacar after they were insulted by the Usurper. He knows of nothing else besides his duty to Ithilien…

"And what of his duty to his steward?" Denethor questioned, voice grave. "What of serving Gondor in the best possible way that his steward sees fit?"

"That duty is foremost in his heart, I assure you. Which is why he chooses to defend the outer regions as a Ranger, a duty for which you granted him your personal permission but two years ago. He wishes no danger to ever come to Gondor's greatest city and so defends that which lies ahead of her. Hence his duty to his Steward, whom he holds foremost in his heart," she added quickly.

"So you tell me that he does not hold _you_ foremost in his heart? The one he seeks to spend the rest of his mortal years with? That proves very odd indeed…"

If she were more alert or attentive, she could have presented an adequate answer. But now, she was fighting (and losing) to stay one step ahead of his line of questioning. Denethor generally spoke in simple terms, but yet as always, it was absurdly easy to find oneself quickly trapped within the riddles of his seemingly straightforward inquiries. Silence fell between them as he fixed her with a triumphant gaze as her mind raced to present him with an acceptable answer.

"My lord," she finally began, taking a deep breath. "The love of country and of family, while existing in separate realms of the heart may be present there with the same enthusiasm. Does Raeliar love his country and steward? Naturally he does, without question or doubt. And he will continue to do so, as long as he lives within the circles of this world. Now, does he love me as well? That too is true, also without question or doubt. He simply loves me with the same amount of enthusiasm that allows him to love and serve his lord and land. I can ask no more of him."

"Well, then it is settled. I can ask for no better answer," Denethor promptly replied, a hint of a smile coming to his face. "You may marry Raeliar, so long as he holds your happiness in the same regard as he holds his duties to country. Do as you will."

"It means nothing without your blessing, uncle!" she declared, rising from her seat and bowing, taking his hand and kissing the signet ring upon it in gratitude.

"You need not show such formalities, Finduireth. I am your uncle and family, not some unfeeling lord or stranger," he said uneasily, standing and deftly removing his hand from her clasp. "Besides, you would have married him anyway, whether or not I gave my permission."

"You assume so little of me?" she blanched.

"I know that once you set your mind to something, there is little one can do short of force to set you from your path, for better, and more often than not, for worse. But," he said, voice softening slightly, taking her hand in his as she stood, "You have little worry of having to set your heart against me on this matter. Now," he began, the weariness edging into his voice. "It has been an unusually long day. It is time I retire for the night."

"I see," she quickly said. "Then I shall trouble you no more. Truly," she murmured, rising and kissing him formally on the brow, "You have my gratitude."

"I can ask for nothing more at the moment then," he replied steadily, giving her a final nod of farewell.

As she left, closing the door quietly as not to disturb him, Denethor took to his seat again, his thoughts now serving as his only company.

Alone.

This would certainly not be the first time the Steward found himself in such a position.

Nor would it undoubtedly be his last.

* * *

Translation of Elvish verses:

_O Elbereth Star-kindler  
(white) glittering slants down sparkling like jewels  
from [the] firmament [the] glory [of] the star-host!  
To-remote distance far-having gazed   
from [the] tree-tangled middle-lands,  
Fanuilos, to thee I will chant   
On this side of the ocean, here on this side of the __Great__Ocean__!_

_O Elbereth Starkindler!  
From firmanet gazing afar,  
To thee I cry here beneath death-horror!  
O look towards me, Everwhite!_

-This originally appeared in FoTR when Frodo, Sam and Pippin hear the elves singing and meet Gildor Inglorion on their way to the Woody End in Book I, Chapter 3: Three is Company. In the extended edition of FoTR, the lyrics are heard by Frodo and Sam as they are camping out in the woods on their way to Bree and witness the elves leaving. Personally, I love the beauty of that scene (and was glad to see in back in the EE of FoTR!), so I used that bit of the movie-verse. Assuming the elves would be singing the verses as they continued to make their way to the shores, I'd imagine they'd be passing somewhere around Minas Tirith on the way, which would allow others to hear them. Anyway, I used the fifth and sixth verse out of the original seven. The lyrics are by Tolkien from The Fellowship of the Ring, while the song from the movie is performed by David Long with Plan 9 (David Donaldson, Stephen Rocha, Janet Roddick). Translation taken from http:www.uib.no/People/hnohf/elbereth.htm.

-Yestarë is the first day of the year. According to the Steward's Reckoning (calendar), it takes place on December 22.

-Lastly, I realize that in book-verse, no one knew what Isildur's Bane was, which is what prompts Boromir to make his way to Imladris in the first place. But I since I used that part of the movie-verse an earlier chapter stating that Denethor is able to figure out the rhyme and sends Boromir to Rivendell to retrieve it, I figured it'd be best to remain consistent in the fic. Just goes to show you that I should be more careful in combining book-verse and movie-verse!


End file.
